


At Sea For You

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: AU, Angst, Cruisefic, Drama, First Time, M/M, Romance, Twincest, twincest not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 123,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Trümper has had it with everything in his life, including himself. After smashing up one too many hotel rooms...and cars...and guitars...his management packs him off on vacation, but it's not exactly what he signed up for. Stuck on a cruise he never would have sought in a million years, he meets Bill Kaulitz. Tom has to re-learn that it's all about choices, and soon he's going to be faced with the some of most difficult ones he's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stories don't happen in a vacuum. My continuing thankfulness goes to my gal, for being my life support during November and, beyond that, always when the crazy writing bug bites. I also want to thank cynical_terror, for urging me to write this, remy_jen and chicaintcheap for your enthusiastic support of the idea, and ma_chelle for the beta, cheerleading, and helping me make it better. :)

Tom shaded his eyes with his hand and tipped his head back to regard the immense bulk of the twelve-deck ship with the kind of disgust that he usually reserved for knockoff New Era caps or girls with cellulite. "This does not look like a fucking private bungalow in Fiji," he muttered. His manager Andreas had a really infuriating sense of humor.

"Excuse me, sir?" said the beefy security man at his elbow.

Angling an irritated glance over his shoulder, Tom flipped his hand at the man. "I told you already, I'm on vacation. Twenty feet leading space at all times, remember?"

"Yes, sir," Michael murmured respectfully. The bodyguard began to edge backward to make the prescribed distance, casting anxious, scrutinizing glances at nearby elderly couples passing close by.

Tom snorted and rolled his eyes. Yes, the geriatrics overtaking him on their way past him toward check-in looked as though they were going to beat him down for an autograph and rip his dreadlocks off for souvenirs. 

After thrashing three hotel rooms to the point where two well-known chains refused to have Tom Trümper on their premises again, crashing a Ferrari and a Porsche in swift succession, getting his license suspended for DUI, and culminating his destructive binge with the wreckage of his beloved limited-edition Gibson onstage in the middle of a live, televised concert, Tom's manager was sending him on enforced break. He was billing it as a vacation, but it amounted to the same thing. While wrangling the details of Tom's imposed leave, Tom had specified no fangirls and preferably no one who knew him at all, someplace warm to give him relief from New York's cold weather, relative isolation, and sights worth seeing.

Tom found himself being deposited at the docks, set to board a cruise ship. However, as Tom was fast realizing, this particular cruise had a specialized niche. His first clue had been the flocks of older people lining up on the curb, holding hands and clasping each other about the waist as they waited in their palm tree print shirts and flip-flops for general boarding to open. His second had been all the banners proclaiming 'Welcome Boomer Cruisers.'

Andreas was sending him on a cruise for Baby Boomer couples.

He was on his way to expedited boarding even as he hit the speed dial for his manager. "I am not going on a cruise intended for the elderly, you jackass," Tom growled into his phone, at Andreas's trepidatious hello. "You expect me to go for ten days without getting laid?"

"It might do you some good," Andreas said outright. "But, no. The cruise director has it taken care of, Tom. Although, the dates she's able to arrange for you may not be groupies, so you should try to summon up what little charm you do possess, if you actually expect to get lucky."

Tom made a scoffing noise into the mouthpiece. "Lucky? There's no luck about it. I'm the hottest thing they could hope to have--"

"Shut up and go on your vacation, already," Andreas ordered. "We're paying; you shouldn't be bothered – Michael will see to it, if by chance there is anyone on board that recognizes you – and I set up a credit line with the ship and booked you for several sessions at their spa, so...have fun."

Tom glared at a slow-shuffling old couple ahead of him and lengthened his strides, dodging them and heading for the first open check-in station. "I'm going to make you pay for that," he threatened.

Andreas sighed. "Just try to come back with a few less issues than you left with, all right?"

Tom snorted. "Yeah. Right. You mean, have a few less inconvenient existential crises where fans or press might be able to get wind of the breakdown."

"Now, Tom--" Andreas began, all conciliatory manager.

Tom jabbed his phone off and dropped it into his pocket. "This is a fucking joke," he muttered, because it had to be.

What the hell was he supposed to do on a ship, no matter how nice, for ten days when he would be surrounded with old couples trying to rekindle the flame in their golden years?

"And what brings you to Holland today?" the smiling check-in clerk said, looking him over then glancing over his shoulder as though expecting to find his parents.

"Wasn't specific enough about where I wanted to vacation," he said, pushing his sunglasses up as he set his passport and check-in form in front of her.

The clerk's smile faltered.

Tom ignored that, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter as she went through the check-in process, tilting a webcam up at him to capture a photo for cruise security, passing over a stateroom card in a little paper card-holder. Tom flipped it open and found a folded map of the ship. He glanced to his right; Michael was checking in at the station beside him. He rolled his eyes and internally berated Andreas for his twisted sense of humor, again. Since it was a couples cruise, there was the outside chance that someone might think _he_ and _Michael_...then again, the likelihood of any perverted fangirls being on the cruise to make their disgusting jumped-up assumptions was slim to none, so he was probably safe.

"That's your stateroom card, and as you probably know, cash is not accepted in any transactions on the ship--"

"I know," Tom interrupted, impatient to get on with the process and crash in his stateroom. Maybe after a few drinks at one of the bars, since it was early yet and he'd heard one of the staff telling the line outside that they'd have to wait a few hours before staterooms were opened. "And my management set up a credit line for me." He flipped a few stray dreadlocks off his neck.

The clerk hesitated, gave him an overly bright smile, and continued. "Then you should be all set, Mr. Trümper, and thank you for traveling with Holland. Your itinerary--"

"Yeah, I'll figure it out," Tom said, moving off without bothering to let her finish. He was exhausted, irritable, had gotten up at the crack of dawn to make his flight from New York, and probability was high that he wouldn't be seeing a bed until some time in the afternoon at this rate, if the cruise's stateroom cleaning crew was efficient as the rest of the service so far.

There hadn't even been a driving service from the airport, and Andreas hadn't lined up a private car. It had been a choice between crowding into the shuttle, and cabbing it; and watching the group of older couples lining up next to the sign-holding Holland employee, jabbering away at each other, cameras hung around their necks, had been like peering into a special slice of hell.

"I can't believe he did this to me," Tom muttered under his breath, hoisting his carry-on and shuffling off toward the security check point. The one thing Andreas _had_ done right, it seemed, was gotten him expedited boarding despite not being a five-star Mariner or whatever the cruise's special incentive program was.

"Excuse me, sir?" Michael said, puffing slightly as he hurried to catch up.

Tom gave him a narrow look. "Twenty feet," he reminded the bodyguard.

"Yes, sir," Michael said, crestfallen. He looked behind himself and began to edge back, though there probably wasn't twenty feet of space between the scanning equipment and the corner that led back around to check-in.

Tom gritted his teeth and dumped his bag on the conveyor belt.

He got through security without being frisked or asked to remove his belt, which was a refreshing change of pace. The pathway from security to gangway was lined with people trying to sell him stuff – a spa representative, someone selling a deal on alcohol for the duration of the cruise, which Tom bought, and other stuff that he sailed past. There were pictures against a greenscreen, and he scoffed under his breath and kept going. He knew what he looked like; he had plenty of pictures of himself, more than he knew what to do with, and was certain he didn't want to commemorate the occasion with a banner that said "Setting Sail – Boomer Couples Cruise 2009" or whatever asinine logo they'd come up with to go with their themed cruise.

No fangirls, Tom consoled himself.

He wondered if spa employees were allowed to sleep with customers, or guests, or whatever the cruise lined called them. The spa representative had been hot; nice tits, porcelain teeth smile, well-kept nails as she held out the pamphlet for his perusal.

"Oh my god," a voice quavered. "Is it him? Is it really him?"

Incredulous, Tom swung around. He would be very surprised if anyone over fifty actually recognized him, barring passing familiarity imparted by a younger relative. He lifted a deprecating hand, prepared to tell the potentially encroaching person that he wasn't going to sign any autographs on vacation, thank you for understanding.

"It is..." a reedy male voice responded. An elderly couple was standing in line for the greenscreen pictures, and they were entirely focused on someone currently posing to have their photo taken.

Tom looked, raising a brow, and his quick glance turned into a gape.

Standing between velvet rope and the backlit greenscreen was the most gorgeous person Tom had ever seen. Model-perfect, was his first impression. The face was flawless, from dark brows to a long, straight nose to lush, pouty lips glossed just so, to honey-brown eyes rimmed in smoky shadow. The hair was a dark, sleek layered mane with a few artful streaks of auburn-scarlet and platinum, long enough to brush past the shoulders. As Tom watched, the gorgeous person broke into the most amazing, sunnily pleased smile that made even Tom's lips tug upward in response, irked as he was over circumstance and lack of sleep.

"Just as lovely a young man as he is on television," the woman of the elderly couple stated, regarding the gorgeous person with something between fondness and avidity.

Tom stared. No way. That was a guy?

The carry-on was digging into his shoulder but Tom couldn't even feel it, for the moment. He could only look at the guy with the incredible smile. It didn't even matter for that instant whether he was a man or a woman; there was only admiration.

Tom shuffled back a step as the gorgeous person turned to give a little wave to the older couple who had noticed him, then began to head his way, toward the gangway. Besides being beautiful, he was smartly dressed in a sleeveless heathery grey sweater woven through with glints of multi-colored metallic thread, maroon skinny pants, knee-high leather boots that had probably cost a pretty penny, and his outfit was completed with a long, thin scarf wrapped around his throat and cast over both shoulders.

"Fuck," Tom breathed, and the young man looked up. Their eyes locked. Tom was fairly certain he'd been with some models that weren't as well put-together as this gorgeous young thing.

The gorgeous one raised his brows, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"Autograph?" he inquired, in a low, mellifluous voice.

Tom raised his own brows in response. "What?"

"Oh, I thought..." The gorgeous young man paused, raising his handbag as he rifled through it for something. If it was a pen, Tom was going to be mortified, because he had no idea who this guy was. The young man pulled a stateroom card from his handbag, instead.

"No, I...I don't need anything from you," Tom said quickly, and turned to make for the gangway that would take him onto the ship. He thought he heard a soft, slight gasp behind him.

Tom shook his head and tapped his hand along one of the rails as he boarded the ship. Now more than ever, he was certain that he needed a drink.

* * *

"Really? A boomer _couples_ cruise?" Georg's voice said in his ear. His group's bassist was one of the few friends Tom had, with the insular, constantly touring existence he'd been leading for years, and Tom had promised to check in before cell phone service cut out after leaving port.

"I'm only twenty-nine," Tom said, gesturing madly with one hand and almost spilling his second martini. He'd parked himself at a corner seat of the bar on the Lido Deck and Michael was hunched over at the other end of the bar, gazing suspiciously at everyone who as much as looked twice at Tom. The helpful barkeep had told Tom it would be hours before he'd be able to get into his stateroom, and that was just great.

"I'm not an old fart yet," Tom continued, setting his drink on the bar. "So why did Andreas book me on a cruise for..." He lowered his voice when he realized an older couple was passing him by and giving him dirty looks.

"Well, isn't it everything you wanted out of your vacation?" Georg questioned. "No kids, no screaming fans...ha ha, I'll bet none of the people on that boat even know who you are...no chance of getting ambushed by anyone who wants to grab your autograph or, you know, rip your clothes off or sneak into your cabin to steal your guitar picks or caps or underwear."

"Gross," Tom said, but had no further comment. That had really happened.

"Tom," Georg said. "You've already boarded the ship. Don't you think it's a little late to be complaining?"

"It's never too late to be complaining," Tom replied. "I wanted a vacation in Fiji, you know?"

"Did you actually say you wanted a vacation in Fiji, all those words in that exact order?" Georg asked. "Because you know how Andi is..."

"Fuuuuuuck," Tom exclaimed, grabbing his martini and slopping it half into his mouth, half over his front. He knew very well how Andreas was. He asked for drinks on a rider; Andreas made sure he was well supplied with water and Red Bull.

"You're drunk already, aren't you?" Georg observed.

"Maybe a little," Tom replied, taking up his drink with exaggerated precision. He hadn't had much to eat that day, so it was going to his head. There was only one glass in his hand, so he was doing okay. "I can't believe I'm turning...ugh."

"Don't think about it," Georg advised. "That way lies monsters. And a nervous breakdown, if the way you've been acting lately is any indication."

"My life is ending in a few days," Tom replied. "I'm allowed to be dramatic about it."

"Not if you're going to smash your guitar onstage, man," Georg said unsympathetically. "That was only our third song, too."

"Fuck you; they had a spare guitar, there's always spare guitars," Tom said genially. He eyed his mostly-empty martini glass, sloshed the remnants at the bottom, and picked up the swizzle stick, biting the olive from the end.

"Maybe that attitude is part of your problem, Tom," Georg said.

"What?" Tom said, frowning.

"Never mind. Go get smashed. Have fun. Get laid, and try to fucking relax, will you?" Georg said. "You're no good to us unless you can play guitar." He laughed and ended the call.

Tom blinked at his empty glass, surprised at how the sting of that had cut right through the buzz.

"Barkeep," he said, lofting his stateroom card. "Another one, yeah?" He didn't care if Michael ended up having to carry him once the staterooms were declared open by general announcement; if he couldn't get his nap, he was damned well going to tie one on.

Eventually the staterooms were declared available to guests, Tom got ahold of a burger and fries to sop up some of the martini, then he staggered off to pass out in the luxurious suite that had been booked for him. Same story of his life, different place.

"Would you like me to knock to wake you up, sir?" Michael asked him, violating the twenty-foot rule but as he had an arm wedged under Tom at the moment and he had Tom's carry-on in the other hand, Tom magnanimously decided to forgive it.

"Nah," Tom said. "Is the ship rolling? Feels kinda..."

"No, sir, we haven't left port yet," Michael said helpfully.

"Huh," Tom said, squinting. He fumbled with his stateroom card in the lock, sliding it home and making it blink red repeatedly, until Michael took it from him and got it on the first try. "Well, I'm just gonna...I need to sleep, that's all."

He did, but was woken hours later by a knock on his stateroom door. It was a firm, authoritative knock and Tom roused automatically in response. Not Michael, then.

He stumbled out of bed; hitched up his boxers after a good scratch. "Yeah?" he called out, rolling his tongue in his mouth and making a face. His mouth tasted terrible, like the sock-soup cocktail of a hangover.

"Mr. Trümper?" a pleasant female voice called. "It's Tasha, your cruise director."

"Unh," Tom grunted response, reaching for the terrycloth robe hanging on a hook outside his bathroom. He supposed it would be polite to answer the door with something covering his woeful lack of tan.

"I've come to discuss details of your itinerary," the woman continued.

She probably wasn't going away until he spoke with her, Tom pondered, so he went to open the door, testing his breath with a palm cupped against his face. It was pretty foul, so he decided to play it safe and stay a short distance back.

Tasha turned out to be a slender, perky woman in her late thirties to early forties, with a gleam of a smile fit for toothpaste ads and a short head of blond curls. She was a bit horse-faced but Tom was pretty sure that Andreas hadn't intended for Tom to date _her_ , so he paid it no mind. "Good afternoon, Mr. Trümper, and welcome to the New Amsterdam."

"Call me Tom," he replied, giving her a fraction of the boyish smile that had netted him his fair share of ladies over the years.

Tasha didn't even blink. "Tom, I've come with an invitation from the captain himself for dinner at the captain's table this evening, if you're of a mind," she said, holding up small white envelope with a deep blue seal.

"Thanks," Tom said, taking it and tugging at one of his ears. "I, ah..." He wondered how to breach the subject. Andreas said he wouldn't have to find his own dates, so...

"If you need a date for this evening, I can arrange a meeting with a singer, one of our contract bookings, who'd be willing to stand in with you for dinner," Tasha continued helpfully, as though reading his mind.

"Ah, yeah," Tom said, fiddling with the small envelope in his hands. He broke open the seal and scanned over the invitation with its elegant, handwritten calligraphy. He doubted very much that it had come from the captain himself. It was for Tom Trümper plus one. He winced again over the fact that he was on a couples cruise for _old people._

Andreas was a sick bastard.

"Does she know who I am?" Tom continued, tucking the invitation into a pocket of his terrycloth robe. "And, yes, I'll come to the captain's table for dinner."

"You'd have to ask her, Tom," Tasha replied, giving him that sparkling white smile again. 

Tom scratched at his neck. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten himself a date that wasn't a groupie or an industry connection. He knew he hadn't been much of a prize to be around for awhile - okay, possibly years - and his small talk skills had been going down the toilet, the once easy gift of conversation leaving him as his patience ground down to nothing. He used to be able to talk to people.

He used to be interested in what they said.

"I...yeah, I could use a date for the dinner," Tom said awkwardly, and tried on a smile. At least there were a few hours left to put himself back together as something moderately resembling human. "After all, if I went running around trying to find one of my own, odds are high I'd get my shins caned by some offended husband." It being a couple's cruise, and all, he concluded in his thoughts.

They shared a laugh that was as short as it was perfunctory. Tom cursed himself out for an idiot and wished he could blame it on the alcohol, but he didn't feel even a little buzzed anymore.

"Her name is Mia and she's from the Philippines. I'll have her meet you in the Stardust on the third deck at 6 for drinks, sound good?" Tasha said.

"Oh," Tom said, giving the cruise director a brief chin lift. "Drinks. Six at the Stardust, yeah. Sounds good." Meeting for drinks left the implication that dinner wasn't a sure thing, after all.

Tasha handed him a business card, glossy stock with her name embellished in fancy gold-embossed scrolls. "If you need anything, Tom, give my office a call and let my assistant know."

"Great, thanks." Tom watched her go, her short curls bobbing, her heels thudding purposefully over the carpet of the narrow corridor. She had more invitations clasped in her hand, making him wonder who else in the luxury suites merited an invite tonight.

He withdrew into his cabin and got a look at the clock.

"Shit," he yelped, shrugging out of his robe. It was later than he'd thought. Hell, it would probably take him about that long to find the Stardust.

And couldn't they have come up with a better name for a piano bar?

Grumbling under his breath, Tom hurried to unzip his luggage and get ahold of the essentials. It was going to be a long fucking week, and he was going to have to learn all over again how to interact with people when he couldn't get his way on the strength of his name or his band, alone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow," Tom said aloud, as a diminutive bombshell in a violent swirl of tropical print dress approached him with inquiring dark eyes. "You look like an assault to the senses." If he hadn't been hungover, he was feeling as though he was, now.

The woman, Mia apparently, took it for a compliment and beamed. "You are Tom?"

"One of them, yeah," Tom confirmed, tipping his highball glass in her direction.

Mia blinked long black lashes at him. "Excuse me?"

Tom shook his head. "Bad joke, sorry. My name is really common in the States."

"Oh," Mia said, her expression clearing.

"Buy you a drink?" Tom offered.

Mia gave him a wide smile, displaying perfect, pearly white teeth. "That would be nice."

Tom had found the Stardust, after all, after taking the elevator near his suite to the third deck and scorning the map. There had been a daily program tucked in the mail receptacle outside his door and it had informed him that the night's dinner wear was smart casual, whatever that meant. Tom figured that as long as he wasn't wearing flip flops he was good, but he'd donned a pair of black slacks that didn't slip down too far below his hips, and an over-sized plain red shirt sans offensive logos with white stitching at the hem, sleeves, and neck. He'd struggled over the fact that he couldn't wear a cap in the captain's presence, most likely, and settled for tying his dreadlocks back, down at his nape. His forehead felt naked but he was coping.

The Stardust turned out to be an alcove tucked to one side of a glass staircase that carved its way through several decks in the aft section of the ship. From the bar, Tom had a good view of the blaze of the staircase, lit up with glittering shards thrown from the immense fused-crystal chandelier on the deck one level up. There were intimate clusters of seating scattered throughout the dim alcove, and beyond the seating area there was a small dance floor flanked by a piano. The pianist was currently playing "Strangers in the Night," an older couple was dancing, and Tom wanted drink more.

They lingered at the bar for a while and Mia chattered on about the ship, her tour of duty on several Holland cruises, the incredible honor of being asked to dine at the captain's table, and Tom nodded a lot. She was a nice girl with a low-cut neckline and Tom was evaluating his chances for the rest of the night.

Eventually she stood and held her clutch purse under one arm with a friendly smile. "Shall we go to the captain's dinner, then?"

"Yeah," Tom grunted, draining the last of his rum and coke and setting the highball glass on the bar. He was going to try to take it easy over dinner, the better to avoid making a fool of himself in front of the captain. He wondered who would be seated at the captain's elbow as their date for the evening.

A vision of the dark-haired young man from earlier went through his mind's eye, and Tom gave his head a brief shake. Now, there was a ridiculous thought.

He found himself wondering if the gorgeous young man was one of those contract entertainers, like Mia herself, or if circumstance had somehow brought him to the New Amsterdam as well. The thought that he might be one half of a boomer couple, with an older sugar daddy, crossed Tom's mind and he shuddered.

"So, uh...must be a nice set-up for you, getting to enjoy the cruise while you do a little light work," Tom said, looking down at Mia as they made their way to the dining room. Now that they were both vertical, she was quite a bit shorter than he was – he was quite literally looking at the top of her head and could easily fit her under an armpit.

Mia looked up at him, shrugging back a wealth of black hair over one tanned shoulder. "It's nice," she agreed. "This is my third tour with Holland. I do singing in the evenings, and I get to go to shore every time we're in port."

At the entrance to the dining room, the maitre-d' sized up Tom with a dubious look until he passed over the invitation to the captain's table, whereupon he metamorphosed into utter solicitousness. Tom and his "plus one" were ushered to a table through a dim dining room afloat with tables of all sizes, mostly four-tops and six-tops, with the occasional larger rectangles seating eight. At the far end of the elegantly-appointed dining room on a raised dais, an eight-top table had a fantastic view of the rear of the ship and its pluming tail of propeller-churned water.

There were two couples already seated - a man in a navy suit jacket adorned with several multicolored bars pinned to the upper left breast, and an older, elegant blond woman in a simple champagne-hued cocktail dress. The other pair was an elderly couple, both wearing dressy clothes. As Tom and Mia approached, the man in the navy suit jacket stood, extending a hand.

"Welcome to the New Amsterdam," he said. "I'm Captain Dorff." His voice was thickly accented but his speech was clear, understandable.

"Thanks," Tom said, returning the handshake. They all dropped into their chairs and the maitre-d' held Mia's, making Tom realize belatedly that perhaps he should have done so, himself.

He was about to offer his name when the captain stood again. Tom craned his head to get a look at the last arrivals for their table.

Stepping up to the dais was the gorgeous, long-legged man from earlier. He had changed into a brick red turtleneck and black skinny pants, and a set of ankle boots that added inches to a pair of already-incredible legs. Topping off his evening outfit were several silver chain necklaces, charms and crosses, tossed on as though he'd grabbed the first few at the top of the jewelry box.

Tom gaped as the gorgeous man approached. The makeup was a little more dramatic, the eyes smokier, their clear brown standing out against the dark background, and the gloss on his lips was more obvious. His layered hair had been fluffed up, fixed in place with spray, spiking up a few of the layers and giving Tom the impression of an androgynous rock star. The young man smiled at the captain, then glanced around the table and Tom snapped his mouth shut. It was awkward and insulting to get caught checking someone out when he ostensibly had a date for the evening, but even worse when that person was a guy.

Shuffling behind him was a big, dark-haired man that reminded Tom of Michael, at least in build, and Tom did a quick check for his security. The bodyguard had been seated unobtrusively at a two-top off to Tom's left, and he was sipping at a glass of water. He raised his chin inquiringly as Tom caught his eye, and Tom gave a slight shake of his head and turned away.

The gorgeous man and his dinner partner - definitely not geriatric, so what were either of them doing on the cruise? - were seated by the time Tom returned his attention to the captain's table. He wondered if the two of them were cruise entertainment, then realized that an entertainer wouldn't be dining at the captain's table unless they were the guest of an invitee, like Mia. He remembered the young man offering him an autograph and wondered who he was.

Then he made a conscious effort to shift his mind off the prettyboy, who was far too stunning for Tom's comfort levels. Seated beside Mia, he had made Tom's date for the evening look homely and dumpy in comparison - and Mia was a knockout.

Beside anyone but this person.

"--did you say your name was, young man?" a voice to his left prompted, and Tom turned his head.

The older man was giving him bright, expectant eyes.

"I didn't," Tom said. "Tom Trümper." That mellow, husky voice was speaking up, to his right, and Tom swiveled his attention as though he were at a tennis match.

"...so pleased to be here despite the circumstances," the gorgeous young man was saying as he accepted a menu from the maitre-d'. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Captain Dorff." He too had an accent, but it was very faint, barely there.

It reminded Tom of his mother's accent and he busied himself unfolding his napkin. Simone had never got to see him and the band take off. All the money in the world wouldn't do him a damn bit of good when he hadn't had it when it had mattered the most.

Before they could circle the table rehashing introductions, the sommelier appeared to take drink orders and Tom had to busy himself with the menu.

Had he missed hearing the knockout's name?

Fuck, why did he even care? Tom leaned over to peer down Mia's front and ask if she wanted wine. She declined, telling him she had a show later that evening.

Which was great, because that meant Tom wasn't getting laid. 

He sighed and buried his nose in the dinner menu, tuning out of the conversation briefly. The choices were surprisingly upscale and he made an impressed face over that, wondering whether the captain's table got a separate menu or if cruise food really was that good. If so, then things were looking up, at least for his stomach.

Every time he raised his eyes, the looker on the other side of Mia caught Tom's attention, either with a flamboyant gesture of his beringed hand, a flash of that incredible smile, or by launching into an anecdote in his softly-accented voice. Tom kept his head down and nodded to the old man on his left whenever he tried to engage Tom in conversation.

The table discussions were dominated through service by the gorgeous man, Mia, and the captain and his wife, or date...Tom hadn't caught her name, either. Introductions weren't rehashed and Tom found himself wondering if he'd been out of it that badly for an entire slice of conversation, or if they'd all been rather careless with the social niceties.

He was kind of willing to bet it was the first option.

By the end of the dinner, Mia's laugh was grating on him and Tom kept casting surreptitious looks at the prettyboy. Every time those big brown eyes glanced his way, he found himself glaring at his plate. The young man directed a question at everyone at the table at least once, deftly juggling multiple conversational threads of small talk with ease yet not in a way that seemed to dominate; he always deferred when the captain or his blond lady friend had a word to put in. When he put a question to Tom, Tom happened to have an immense bite of food in his mouth and shook his head, chewing faster, but not fast enough – Mia answered for him.

"I think his management booked the cruise for him; at least, that's what our cruise director, Tasha, told me?" Mia said with a tinkling laugh.

"How extraordinary," the gorgeous young man said, and appeared as though he'd say more, when the older man to Tom's left woke up and bellowed a question about dessert.

Tom slumped down into his chair and wished he'd ordered more wine.

After dinner, the elderly couple were the first to leave the table. "It's past our bedtime," the woman declared, giving her half-dozing husband's shoulder a couple of fond pats to get him moving. Tom glanced at his watch; it was only nine-thirty. Perhaps they had a time difference?

"I've had a long day," Tom began, standing and stretching. When he looked back to his table, the gorgeous young man was giving Tom's middle an abstracted stare and Tom glanced down, tugging at his shirt with a hasty hand once he'd noticed it had ridden up. The young man flashed a disarming grin at Tom, who looked away as soon as their eyes met.

"Ah, yes...I have to get going, myself! My evening performance begins soon," Mia said, standing up. "Captain Dorff, it was a pleasure...everyone, have a lovely rest of the cruise."

The others at the table murmured polite farewells and Tom followed Mia from the dining room. He craned his head to check on Michael, and met the eyes of the handsome young man again. Tom cursed himself out and hoped the knockout wouldn't think anything of it.

"Well, thanks," Mia said, stopping beside a stairwell once they cleared the dining room. "I...thanks for dinner, Tom, I hope you enjoy your cruise."

Tom looked down at her, not quite able to summon up an engaging smirk. "You're not allowed to date clients? Er, customers? Guests." He settled on that last, pretty sure he remembered one of the crew using that term.

Mia's dark brown eyes hardened. That had been the wrong thing to say. "I don't think we're each other's types," she said bluntly. "Good night, Tom."

"Yeah," Tom replied to all of that, giving her a wave and shuffling off. The rejection didn't come as a surprise, per se, but it had been a long time.

A very long time.

He needed a smoke, and he meandered around the third deck until he found a door that let him out onto the strip that made a complete circuit around the entire ship. He breathed a sigh, pulling in humid, warm air, went right up to the railing, and lit up as he watched the dark rolling waters churn beside the ship. He started to walk around the ship and the rocking motion gave him his first taste of queasy since setting foot on the gangway earlier that day.

Expelling a long plume of smoke, he turned to go back the way he'd come. There were plenty of chairs lined up against the walls of the outside deck and he figured he could settle on one of the lounges to finish his smoke before returning inside. It was pitch black outside, with little distinction between sky and sea, and it was neither scenic nor as interesting as he'd imagined it could be.

He came face to face with the gorgeous young man, his arms wrapped tightly over his front, silver necklaces chiming with each step. The man brought himself to a quick stop, blinking wide chocolate-brown eyes at Tom.

"What the hell; are you following me?" Tom said aloud.

The young man snorted. "Don't flatter yourself!" he was swift to respond, his vaguely-accented voice snagging Tom's attention again.

"Your date run off on you?" Tom asked, moving to pass the gorgeous young man on his left.

The young man stepped to his left, and blinked at Tom as they blocked each other.

"Or did you ditch him?" Tom continued, not really caring about the answer but somehow feeling the need to ask it anyhow. He scowled and stepped to the gorgeous one's right, at the same time the young man dodged right to attempt to get around Tom.

"I could ask you the same," the young man responded. "Since your date is nowhere in sight."

Tom shrugged. "I'm on vacation," he said, and took a last drag of his cigarette. "Maybe it's better if I take a break from women, too." He sized the young man up with his eyes, waiting until he seemed fixed in place, then went around him at last, giving him a wide berth to make sure they didn't block each other again.

He was three paces past the gorgeous one when he realized exactly how that might have sounded.

Tom groaned inwardly, but it was pretty much too late to take it back. He retreated indoors, tossing his spent cigarette on the way, and found the casino with a few hints murmured by Michael from twenty paces back. After ringing up a sizable loss to his credit line, Tom admitted that the night had been a rout on pretty much every level and found the comfort of his luxurious, empty, utterly quiet suite somewhere around two a.m. He flicked on the television for ambient noise and collapsed with the bedspread half tucked around him, too tired and dispirited to even work one out before he fell asleep.

The next day dawned cool and grey, with filtered light pouring in through the wide, low window beside Tom's bed. He lifted himself up and shaded his aching eyes with one hand.

"Remind me to keep the curtains pulled for tomorrow," he muttered to no one in particular.

His morning erection was fierce and rebellious, unresponsive to thoughts of Mia or big-breasted blonds or even naughty prospects for some potential happy ending at the spa session that had been booked for him later in the day. He was sure they didn't do that, not even for the right, exorbitant price, but it was fun to imagine. Tom lay back in bed and stroked himself with a frown, trying to work up enthusiasm for something, anything. If he couldn't get off, he was going to have to drown his hard-on with a cold shower before he ventured so much as room service on his veranda.

The dark-haired model caliber beauty from the day before flashed into his head, and Tom gasped as his dick tightened painfully hard.

"No, no; I am not doing this. Fuck you," Tom swore. He tugged at his dick anyhow, and thought of the dark-haired gorgeous one sprawled out beside him, stretching on his side and lifting his red turtleneck to give Tom a glimpse of pale skin, maybe dotted with a few of the moles like those Tom had seen on his neck and face.

Tom groaned, palmed his cock a little more firmly, and went for it.

After one of the most satisfying hand-jobs he'd had in a while – and he was not going to let himself think about why; hell no, not going there, no reason to, did not compute – Tom phoned in an order for room service and went to shower off the stench of defeat from the previous day.

The shower cap stocked in the bathroom was woefully inadequate for the weight of his dreads, and Tom considered using the cruise director's card for the first time. He thought better of it – she could help him get dates, front row seats to packed shows, reservations at the ship's fine dining establishment, but simple household items were surely beyond her purview. He almost dialed the housekeeping number, but went for the simple stand-by expedient of wrapping a towel around his dreads.

His shower was quick and the water was unmercifully tepid. Breakfast was delivered to his room while he was still in his towel, and so he threw on the terrycloth robe again to answer the door.

He ate on the veranda while he looked over the day's itinerary. The view was spectacular, rolling blue seas as far as the eye could encompass, with poufs of white cloud dotting the endless stretch of sky. Tom downed his coffee, bolting his food without really tasting it as he scanned an eye down the day's schedule of events.

Andreas had booked a massage for him at the cruise's day spa, but other than that, he was free to do anything he liked, or nothing at all. The ship had a movie theatre, cooking workshops, bingo – Tom wrinkled his nose – sessions to advise guests on everything from how to appraise jewelry to making use of their time ashore. There were shows, and line-dancing; a comedian, and a variety show; happy hour in three of the ship's bars, and lounge singing in the early evening. Tom wondered if Mia was fronting that, and decided he didn't really care. That night's dress in the dining room was formal, though there were other places to eat if he didn't care to dress up.

Tom figured the dining room was good enough. It wasn't as though he had a date to impress, after all. He supposed he could try out a different girl for that evening if Tasha had any more on tap.

A knock at the door roused him from introspection over the remnants of breakfast. There was a lot to do, but Tom was finding that he had interest in very little. Maybe he'd pick a spot on one of the outside upper decks and work on his tan.

"Sir?" Michael's voice reached Tom through the door. "According to your itinerary, you have a massage in twenty minutes."

Tom put his head in his hands. Even on his vacation, he wasn't really in charge of his schedule. He knew that Michael meant well, but there was so little in his life over which he had control to begin with. This was yet one more thing reminding him.

"Right, I'll be there," he called back, after trying out and discarding several replies in his head. He got up and shrugged into a t-shirt and knee-length shorts, something easy to shrug out of, to walk up to his massage.

This time, Tom took a good, hard look at his map before he left his suite. Along with his stateroom card, he tucked it into his pocket and made his way up to the ninth deck and the ship's purportedly luxurious day spa.

"Ah, Mr. Trümper," the woman at the counter greeted him. It was the fabulous blond with the engaging smile and firm, upright breasts – not large, but a nice handful. "We've been expecting you."

"Thanks?" Tom ventured. He looked around. The spa was tucked into an out of the way corner beyond the Lido Deck's indoor pool. Off to the left was a hair salon, off to the right were narrow corridors lined with doors. One of them had been glass-walled, and Tom had glimpsed what seemed to be a private pool. The spa desk was flanked by willowy palm fronds and an orchid was crammed into one corner. He leaned over the customer side and watched the manager flick through a large calendar with numerous names written down, crossed out, highlighted, and a few empty blocks.

"Let me take you on a tour of our facilities," she told him, her pink-glossed lips curving in a brief, professional smile.

The day spa definitely had plenty of luxury crammed into its confined spaces. Tom followed the manager through a humid, aromatherapy-scented room with couches arrayed before a spectacular view of the ocean. The couches were made of opalescent mosaic tile, warm to the touch, and posturepedic as the manager was quick to assure him. Three out of five beds were full, two older men and a woman laying out breathing in the lavender-scented air with their eyes closed, possibly listening to the trickle of the Zen-style fountain in the middle of the room, or simply asleep. Morbidly Tom wondered if any of the staff checked on the occupants every so often to make sure they weren't beyond sleep.

There was a peppermint-scented sauna, the manager explained to him in a whisper, then she led him through to the private bathing area. It contained a pool filled with jets, many of them strategically placed over what she called a hydro-bed.

After giving him the tour she tried to sell him passes for access to the special areas he'd toured, and Tom waved an unimpressed hand. It was nice, probably relaxing for sure, but if he could make it to a massage scheduled every other day or so he'd be doing well.

"Then let's get you checked in," the manager said, giving him another bright smile and reaching for his stateroom card. "We take your stateroom card, and give you a locker key."

Tom raised a brow, but at her instruction he swapped card for key, and went to the men's locker room to change out of everything but his boxers and wrapped the provided robe around him. She'd gone past a relaxation room first on the tour, and it was there that Tom had been told to wait for his massage therapist.

That room, too, smelt of lavender and when Tom clicked the door open, another sprawling vista of the ocean greeted him.

Tom let out a small sigh and settled himself in one of the lounge chairs lined up in front of the view. The sea and sky met on the far horizon, and a smudge of dark color was the only difference between the two. He was the only one in the relaxation room, and he picked up a clipboard from the ottoman and settled his legs there instead, stretching out as he completed the short health questionnaire.

The door opened and closed behind Tom as he was settling back and closing his eyes. Weirdly, the restfulness of his locale and the view spread out before him was making him anxious somehow. His knee jittered and he glanced to the side as another robed figure made their way around the line of chairs.

The gorgeous young man came into view, smiling as he caught sight of Tom. His dark hair was mussed, a little wavy and fluffy around his face as though he'd washed it and left it to dry untended. He was wearing makeup again, though it was in neutral colors, the barest shimmer of powder over lids and gloss on his full lips.

"Hello," he said to Tom, pleasantly enough.

"Hi," Tom returned.

The knockout glanced at the entire row of lounge chairs, then walked right up to the second to last and seated himself beside Tom, despite the plethora of empty chairs.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" the young man asked him.

Tom had to contain a snort; he wasn't looking at sea or sky, right now. He was doing his level best not to eye the other man up while he was wearing his spa bathrobe, which couldn't quite fold closed over a great deal of lean leg. As the tight clothing from the day before had implied, the young man was slender. He had the faintest dusting of dark hair over his pale skin.

"I didn't catch your name last night," the young man said, tipping quizzical eyes his way. They were the rich color of deep, honeyed amber.

"Tom," Tom grunted in response, now turning his attention to the view. It was beautiful, peaceful even. Yet now, Tom was even more agitated than before.

"I'm Bill," the beautiful young man said with a sweet smile. He shifted in his chair as though he were about to offer Tom a hand.

"I'm trying to relax," Tom said shortly, settling back into his chair and giving Bill a pointed look. What kind of name was Bill for someone as beautiful as this one, anyhow? It was ridiculous, like calling the Taj Mahal an anthill.

Bill's smile dimmed and Tom shifted so that he was facing forward, no longer meeting those puppyishly wounded eyes. His ears were burning. Not long after, his massage therapist entered the room to lead him off to his appointment.

"You've got a great deal of tension," the woman, Camila, told him. "You can't seem to relax."

Tell me about it, Tom thought, unable to shake the dismal notion that he had blown it. Blown what?

It wasn't as though he was going to break a near-thirty year streak of heterosexuality for one gorgeous boy.


	3. Chapter 3

The crystal chandelier chimed softly overhead, drawing Tom's attention. He ran a finger around the rim of his wineglass and tuned out the tedium of his date for the evening chatting with the older couple that was seated at their two-top. Apparently Tom had assigned seating somewhere, on the floor above, and he'd chosen the general seating instead out of some perverse intention to confound any restrictions placed on him for the trip.

He was regretting it now, and telling himself it had nothing to do with missing a glimpse of Bill, his beautiful face and lithe body, the wide smile that had brightened his face and made Tom want to respond.

He was bored, that was all. The company was insipid and the cocktails tasted watered-down, even if the food was better quality than most restaurants he'd been to.

Tom drummed his fingers over the tabletop, casting another glance around the crowded dining room as though hoping to catch a glimpse. The wide, ornate room was dim and waiters moved back and forth carrying platters, sommeliers carrying drinks. Outside, the view was eclipsed by the deep black of evening that masked the sight of rolling waves beyond. The ship was rocking to and fro in a motion that Tom could detect, but it didn't bother him, although the older couple seated with them had complained about it nonstop throughout service.

Dessert plates were set before them, and Tom dug into his with vigor. He'd chosen the chocolate mousse tort from the menu, and it came adorned with a raspberry and a swirl of red glaze that spiraled outward from the dessert to decorate the plate. Beside him, his date, a pretty young blond that would normally be his exact type, was chatting animatedly with the older couple across from them about the various programs that the ship had to offer. From the flow of conversation, Tom had deduced that she was a cruise consultant and worked for the Holland line, so it was probably skirting the line of acceptability for her to accompany him for the evening, but Tasha had set them up anyhow.

He hadn't had to ask her a single question – the older couple across from them had supplied all of the conversation, for which Tom was grateful.

He scraped the last of his dessert from his plate, his mind wandering yet again as he cast another fruitless look around the dining room. He was looking for something and yet wouldn't quite let himself admit what that was.

"And there's a pool party upstairs at nine," the blond at his elbow said, with a delighted little laugh, as though she couldn't imagine anything more diverting.

Tom supposed it was a good skill to have, seeming enthusiastic about everything even when one wasn't fully engaged. Her position was customer service, so he guessed that she did it on a daily basis. He couldn't tell if she was being sincere or putting on an act, and he wasn't sure he cared enough to find out. She'd introduced herself earlier and said it again when they had sat down to table with their dinner companions, and Tom tried every so often to remember her name but figured he could get by without it.

"Yes, we're going up as soon as Arthur is finished with his sinfully rich dessert, here," the older woman said with a laugh of her own.

Tom suppressed a sigh and wondered why people laughed so often. There didn't seem to be anything that amusing to him.

"What do you think?" the blond said, turning to Tom and setting down her fork.

Tom raised his brows. "Oh, uh..." He dredged his mind for an appropriate response, then realized that she was probably asking what he thought of the pool party. "I'm not much of a pool party person." His trunks were somewhere in his unpacked luggage, he was sure. After his massage he'd gone exploring the ship, had found restaurants and shops all over the place, grabbed a quick bite to eat on an upper deck with Michael hunched watchfully nearby. He'd fallen asleep on an upper deck lounge chair until Michael had woken him, concerned with the possibility of sunburn.

"Yeah, can't risk this pretty face," he'd mumbled upon being awoken, but even that much meant more annoyance. That was what normal people did on vacation, right? Got careless and went home with peeling skin and someone commiserating over the ouch of too much sun exposure.

Well, Tom didn't have someone to care about his pain, and all management cared about was appearance.

The blond folded her napkin over her empty plate. "Did you have something in mind?" Her expression was neutral, not exactly encouraging, but not shutting him down, either.

"I guess...we could go have a couple of drinks somewhere?" Tom offered, somewhat surprised. He hadn't exactly been the most attentive person during the meal, and he'd halfway expected her to react the way Mia had.

Part of him, a surprisingly loud part, was still debating whether it was worth the effort it would take to get her into bed. He was getting restless in the way that he recognized as horny, not simply the general anxiety that had pressed in on him for the past few weeks...months...years. Tom wasn't sure he even possessed a good grasp on the appropriate set of social cues to woo someone, though. For the longest time, for him, flirting had consisted of a hand job under the table, or someone leaning over for him to sign her tits, then slipping him a number.

"Sure," the blond said. She crossed her arms.

"The Silk Den?" Tom continued. It was someplace he'd wandered through on his self-guided tour of the ship earlier that day. It had a good view of the open spaces of midship, and what might be a spectacular view of the starry sky if it weren't too dark to see more than a meter beyond the ship. The Silk Den was a bar, more or less, with secluded seating and a few silk-veiled private cabana-style areas with lounge couches. Tom had scanned through the cocktails menu and the bar offered a few specials that were a twist on the usual; he had been particularly tickled with the thought of ordering himself a Tropical Tom.

"Sure," the blond replied. She reached for her clutch purse with an expectant look and spoke across the table to their dinner companions. "It was very nice having dinner with the two of you, I hope you have a fabulous rest of your cruise!"

Tom mumbled something in parting, giving the older couple a wave before he shuffled off after the blond. His assistant had packed a suit for him that he'd slipped on for the formal dinner, and it fit him perfectly.

The perfect fit was the problem. He wasn't accustomed to clothing that was tailored so closely. He kept tugging at his cummerbund, hoping it would disappear, and the tightness of the slacks was driving him someplace between uncomfortable and crazy. Not to mention, the fabric of his pants was touching his package, and that was all kinds of wrong that he couldn't even begin to explain.

The din of the expansive room around him suddenly seemed like too much, the ship rolling beneath his feet. Tom's head swam and the world spun around him for a couple of stomach-turning revolutions. The vertigo receded and he found himself bracing an arm against a low divider that separated part of the dining room from a more elevated section. A busboy was standing beside him with concern scrawled over his face. 

"Sir?" the young man prompted.

A touch at his shoulder let Tom know that Michael had noticed the momentary stagger, too.

"Mr. Trümper, are you...?"

"I'm all right," Tom snapped, jerking away from Michael's solicitous hand, even though the air was too thin and the neck of his suit was chafing him. He lurched forward, following after the receding little black dress that the blond was wearing. At least she wasn't dolled up in tropical print, the thought occurred. He'd seen enough tropical print to last him a lifetime and it was only the second day at sea.

The blond turned, hovering at the doorway to the dining area. Beyond her there was a staff person in the impeccable starched-crisp uniform that all of the ship staff wore; he was manning a station doling out mints and after-dinner morsels: mints, candied ginger, dates. "Tom?" she called, waving her clutch, and Tom quickened his step to catch up.

Upstairs, the Silk Den was dim without the ambient wash of the mid-afternoon sun. The veiled compartments were mostly empty, and there was a crowd of people surrounding the bar. One man in uniform was entertaining a flotilla of women, mostly older but with a few ladies Tom's age in short cocktail dresses. The uniformed man was gesturing broadly and going on about something in an accent so thick that Tom didn't bother trying to track his conversation.

"Want to sit away from the bar?" the blond asked him, with a studiedly neutral expression, as though telling Tom he shouldn't view the offer as encouragement.

Tom shrugged and followed as she led him off to a nook with two chaise lounges pushed up at right angles. A small, round table was affixed to the floor, adorned with a pair of drink menus. The blond arranged herself on one of the lounges in a way that left no room for Tom to seat himself beside her.

That made Tom smirk, and he turned his head to avoid letting her see it. He sprawled out on the second chaise lounge and flipped through a drinks menu, even though he already knew what he was going to order.

Twenty minutes later they were both sipping at cocktails and Tom was tugging at an inseam of his confining pants, discreetly he hoped, as he watched the ebb and flow of people through the Silk Den and the play of light over the glass window. The blond was chattering on again, waxing lengthy on an anecdote about port shopping, or something...Tom had stopped listening a good five minutes ago.

A rustle drew Tom's attention to the thin golden and scarlet veils beside him, and he watched the outline of someone settling onto the couch in the adjoining nook. Tom stared for a moment in unthinking pleasure at the aquiline profile and lush mouth, looking up to the smoky-shadowed eyes, then the shock of recognition tossed back the pleasant haze of alcohol that had overtaken him.

It was Bill.

"...very pretty here but awfully quiet, don't you think?" Bill was saying in his low, husky tenor.

"Better for getting to know each other," another, deeper male voice answered. "Besides, you're the one who said you wanted to come up here and see the view of the ship."

Tom had to suppress a snort. It was pretty clear now that Bill was on the cruise by himself, too, and making use of cruise director Tasha's hook-up service.

"I was thinking we'd sit by the bar," Bill responded. He shifted, drawing Tom's eye as he settled onto his lounge chair directly beside Tom. They were separated by only the thinnest of veils.

"Well, as you can see, the bar is busy..."

Tom pulled in a slow breath and tried to focus on his own nook, his own date with her excellent one-sided conversational skills. A waiter approached at a respectful distance and Tom lifted his empty glass, handing it over and asking for another.

"...and it's difficult spending so much time away from home but the money is good, you know?" the blond said.

Tom grunted noncommittally.

"Anyhow, it's a great advantage to make port at so many places with deep discounts on shopping, if you know where to go..."

Tom grunted again and tuned out, glancing back toward Bill.

With the thin silken veil between them and Bill's attention fixed on his gentleman companion, Tom could look his fill without getting caught, or feeling self-conscious about it. He sat back as he accepted his next drink from the waiter and sipped at it as he let himself really admire Bill's beauty for the first time. He watched Bill laugh and talk, gesturing animatedly with a flash of a beringed hand. This evening his hair was flat-ironed straight, hanging around his face in sleek fetching layers. Even though the light was low, it picked out the red and blond highlights in his dark hair and drew Tom's eye to that face and those sinfully hollowed cheekbones. He watched Bill during moments of stillness, admired the sweep of dark lashes against his flawless skin, dwelled over the strong profile and particularly the fullness of his glossed mouth. 

Tom had to shift and draw up a leg as he remembered he was wearing fitted dress slacks. He was letting himself think about it more than a little – possibly due to sheer proximity, and the impression that he was watching Bill unnoticed; partly because the alcohol was loosening that uptight part of him that wouldn't otherwise be so open-minded.

Maybe because Bill really was just that beautiful, smashing and re-altering any sort of fixed notion of sexuality.

Bill was vivacious and clever as he bantered with his companion. He sucked at the straw of a frothy concoction adorned with an umbrella and cherries and Tom watched with sheer fascination as Bill's lips lips closed about the tube. His laughter was a little wild, his face flushed, but he was captivating.

Too captivating.

"Tom," the blond said, waving her hand in front of his face. "Tom?"

"Huh," Tom said, and transferred his attention back to his date at last. He realized that she was standing beside his chaise lounge, and wondered how long that had been the case. He sat up and crossed his legs with a wince, leaning over to shield his lap.

"Why did you have me join you tonight, anyway?" the blond asked him, her expression not exactly affronted, more curious.

Tom shrugged. He'd asked Tasha to arrange for a date tonight because that was what he did. It was what single people did; they went out, searching for that one person. It was what he was supposed to do. Rather than say any of that, he tipped his head to one side and inquired low enough to keep his voice from carrying, "Want to come back to my suite?"

That was something else he should do – get laid. It had been a while. As he turned his head and caught another glimpse of the sweep of Bill's lashes over pale skin, and watched the curve of his lips as they formed a secret smile, Tom thought it was definitely time now. He couldn't go on like this. Anticipation and dread pooled in his belly. Would he even be able to get it up with the blond?

"No, I don't," the blond said, an expression flitting briefly across her face that Tom couldn't quite read. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"All right," Tom said, and raised his drink in an unspoken toast as she moved off. He turned his head and met Bill's dark eyes through the glint of the silken veil.

"Hello," Bill said, his voice soft, uncertain.

 _He_ had done that, Tom thought with a stab. He'd made Bill think...whatever it was he thinking, to put that tone in his voice and doubt his reception from Tom.

"Um, hi," Tom responded, and wet his lip with his tongue. His mouth was abruptly dry and he found himself setting aside his drink.

"Are you..." Bill began, dark eyes searching on Tom's.

"Bill, come on, we're going to be late making the show," the deep voice of the man spoke up beside him, and Tom looked up to see a dark shape looming.

"I'm not sure..." Bill started, and began to get up from the couch. He reeled and placed a hand to the arm rest to brace himself, laughing in a somewhat manic manner as though what he'd done was enormously hilarious. He set his empty drink glass down with exaggerated precision. "Bye, Tom. See you later?"

"Bye," Tom acknowledged, picking up his drink glass to fidget with it and looking over at Bill again.

Bill was raking back his dark, flat-ironed hair with an unsteady hand, and there was a wide smile on his beautiful face again. He spoke to his companion, "Do you want to go dancing? I feel like going dancing instead..." He walked off, his steps unsteady.

Tom shook his head briefly and sucked his drink dry. He was an idiot, thinking about something that could never happen. Bill was gorgeous, and clearly personable, and he'd probably managed to secure his own date without Tasha's offer of assistance. That is, if the dateable people on the crew were marked as such, though Tom was sure that someone with Bill's people skills could finesse that in a second. Not to mention, any one of the crew would probably be willing to get fired for an evening with someone of such perfection.

He looked down at his empty drink, contemplated another, and it was all too much for a moment. The lights in their dimness were too bright, the alcove too empty. Tom palmed at his forehead and found it warm and dry. He was worried for a moment that the room would start to spin again and thought this must be what an anxiety attack felt like.

He waited a few minutes longer, paid the check when it came because he had no intention of drinking further, and reached the conclusion at last that his date for the evening was gone for good. It was no great loss. They hadn't made a connection, however fleeting.

Tom was mortally certain at this point he'd never get laid again if it weren't for groupies.

He got up and lurched out of the alcove, finding his feet under him and putting them to good use. In the distance, he saw Michael at the prescribed twenty feet and Tom went in the other direction. He could meander around some more, play casino, go to bed early and beat off to thoughts of which he would not speak.

As he emerged from the Silk Den into the hallway beyond, he heard a low, definite "no...no!" and hesitated, unsure of whether he was intruding. He took a few steps forward and found Bill pressed up against the wall by the sheer bulk of his dinner companion. It was the same man who'd been seated with him at the captain's table the night before, and the man was trying to crush a kiss to Bill's face.

Bill had a hand over the man's mouth and he was ducking his face this way and that.

"You're being a bit of a tease, don't you think?" the man rasped when he got his mouth clear of Bill's fingers. He grappled with Bill and pushed him against the wall harder, making Bill's head go back with a thunk. Bill's grip loosened on him and he loosed a low, pained moan that still sounded throaty, appealing.

"Hey," Tom said, taking another step forward, sure of what was going on now. This was no coy moment of seduction.

The man jerked his head up and gave Tom a heated glare. "You stay out of this," he insisted.

Bill twisted under his hands and brought one leg up, giving the man a short, hard knee to the crotch that made Tom wince in masculine understanding where he stood.

"Ugh...you..." the man reeled back, clutching at his assaulted balls. 

"Sir, is there a problem here?" Michael demanded, joining the scene and hauling up short at Tom's shoulder.

Bill was panting, his cheeks scarlet, and he looked this way and that with the air of a wild, trapped creature. Tom stepped further into the hall, trying to figure what he should do about the man that Bill had just kneed, or whether he should do anything at all.

"Bill..." Tom began, and the big man straightened, palming at his crotch, his face red with anger and pain.

"I'll just go," the man croaked. "No...no problems here."

"That would be best," Bill said in chill tones, drawing himself up tall. And he was tall, Tom realized now – they were of a height, with Bill perhaps an inch taller.

The man staggered off, big shoulders hunched over, and Bill looked over at Tom with a question in his eyes.

"You..." Tom began, then stepped forward quickly as Bill began to slump along the wall. "Shit! Hold on, don't...don't pass out, or..." He stood uncertainly beside Bill then laid hands on him, slipping an arm around the young man's slender waist to keep him upright.

Bill drooped against his shoulder like a wilting flower. His breath was warm and alcohol-laden. "Okay," Bill murmured, then nestled his head beside Tom's. "Shit, at least there aren't two of you."

Tom emitted a short bark of laughter. "Most people don't even want to put up with one of me," he said curtly. "Let's get you back to your cabin, shall we?" He wondered how tanked Bill was. He was already aiming fierce thoughts at the departed man for trying to take advantage of Bill while he was clearly not in a position to consent.

Being this beautiful had its side effects, of course.

"You're being awfully nice," Bill murmured, his hot breath fanning against Tom's jaw. "Thought you hated me."

Tom got Bill's arm looped over his shoulder and clasped his own hand over Bill's blouse shirt. Even through the shirt, Bill's skin was supple, radiating a kind of heat that was making Tom's knees unaccountably weak. His scent, imparted by nearness, was both spicy and sweet, bringing the mingled impression of cedar and vanilla and something else Tom couldn't identify.

"I don't hate you," Tom said, low-voiced, with the air of a confession. "Come on, let's...let's just get you to your cabin, all right?"

They began walking forward and Tom kept Bill on the level. As they moved, Bill weaved beside him, giggling softly.

"I am so...so drunk," Bill said after a moment, as they loitered in the area beside the elevators. "I didn't realize until I started moving."

"Well, you seem to be a bit of a lightweight," Tom observed. He didn't quite mean to squeeze his arm around Bill's waist, but found that he was, and Bill felt good in the circle of his arm. "Small wonder you're drunk after that one drink."

"I can drink fine!" Bill said, indignant. "I can drink you under the table. And it was more than one dring...drinnng...drink." He hiccuped and leaned closer to Tom.

Tom shook his head and tried not to smile as Bill rested his head on his shoulder. "Which deck?"

Bill roused briefly. "Er, nine forward?" he said after a moment. "I think."

"That's the Lido Deck," Tom said, and now he laughed.

"Okay, then it must be eight forward," he decided. He nuzzled at Tom's shoulder and said, "Mmm...Tomi, you smell good."

The elevator pinged and a pair of metallic golden doors slid open across the way. Tom steered them onto the empty elevator, chuckling softly. "Tomi, huh?" He was trying to cope with the weird, giddy swirl that had taken hold of him with that most unexpected of compliments.

"Yeah," Bill mumbled. "You're not as much of an asshole as I thought you were."

Tom raised his brows, but knew he deserved that. "I'm plenty asshole, as it is," he replied.

Bill giggled. Tom waved Michael off when he would have followed. "Eight forward, okay?" Tom told his bodyguard, who nodded. The doors rolled shut and Bill clutched at his suit jacket with a grasping hand.

"Didn't see you in the dining room," Bill commented, sounding somewhat bleary but alert enough. "I thought...I thought..."

Tom's stomach cramped and he tried to swipe away a sudden flush with his free hand. "You looked for me?" he said, trying to decide if he was flattered or taken aback.

"Yeah," Bill said, and poked him in the ribs, making him start. "Wanted to ask you what your problem is."

Caught off guard by that frankness, Tom laughed. _You're my problem_ wasn't exactly the truth, and yet it was close enough. It was why he'd brushed Bill off, but not why he was admittedly an asshole in general.

"Way too much to get into, there," Tom murmured, and brushed dark hair back from Bill's flushed, beautiful face. He was surprised at himself, for the forwardness of the gesture; there was also the part of him that wondered why Bill let him.

Then Bill's head lolled against his shoulder again and Tom reminded himself that the other man was drunk.

Bill's cabin turned out to be one of the more luxurious veranda appointments, down the hall not too far away from Tom's own suite. Tom maneuvered them to the door with an arm awkwardly clutched around Bill's waist then sort of stood there until Bill waved his stateroom card in the air as though expecting it to open by virtue of sheer proximity.

"Here," Tom said, plucking it out of his fingers.

Bill gave him an absurdly delighted smile and watched Tom slide the stateroom card into the lock, opening the door for them.

"So..." Tom began, ready to excuse himself for the evening.

Bill grasped at his shirt and reeled him over the threshold. "You want a drink? I have a mini bar..."

"I don't think you need more drinks," Tom stated, wry. "With only the two you've had so far, you're willing to go off with strange men."

Bill stuck his tongue out at Tom, who was given a fascinating glimpse of the bead of a silvery tongue stud.

"Nice," he murmured under his breath, and fuck if he wasn't suddenly imagining the press of that against the underside of his dick. He reddened and busied himself with looking around the cabin, which was spacious for a hotel room, probably decadent for a cruise ship, and somewhat cramped for Tom's tastes. Around the corner from the short entryway there was a wraparound couch with a low, heavy table beside it.

"Sit down," Bill invited. "Stay a while." He rummaged around in the mini bar and came out with a bottle of Pellegrino.

"I'll have one of those," Tom decided.

Bill gave him a lopsided smile and afforded Tom a long look at his backside, clad in skin-tight black formal slacks.

Tom had to stifle a groan and shift position. He was surprised at himself all over again for his instant, obnoxiously persistent response to Bill's gorgeous self. When Bill joined him on the couch, instead of taking the adjoining piece of furniture he plopped himself right down next to Tom, near enough for their thighs to touch, and Tom had to uncross his legs and furtively cross them in the other direction.

Fucking dress slacks.

"So, Tom," Bill said, with a cheery twinkle to his dark eyes. "Having a good cruise so far?"

Tom shrugged. "It's all right," he said after a moment. "It's not...it's not what I would have preferred to be doing."

"Why are you here?" Bill wanted to know, and his inquisitive eyes made the forward question less intrusive than it could have been.

Tom paused. He was getting the strong impression that Bill had no idea who he was, and it was refreshing. It was also nice to know that Bill probably hadn't seen him lose it onstage, then seen twelve different armchair-analyst rants about what it meant, Tom having smashed his best beloved Gibson during a televised live performance.

"Ultimately?" he said. "Because I am an asshole, I guess."

Bill laughed, set down his Pellegrino bottle after a healthy swig, and burped. He hid his mouth behind his hand and his eyes grinned over at Tom. "Oops. Well, have you tried, you know, getting involved in activities?"

Tom set his own bottle down and crossed his arms. "What activities? This is a cruise for couples. _Old_ couples, trying to relive their glory days, re-light the pilot fire of their romance, spend their waning years with one foot in the sand and one foot in the grave, whatever."

Bill's eyes widened. "That's a hell of a way to look at it," he said, sounding troubled.

Tom shook his head. "Besides, why should I while away the hours playing bingo or going to culinary workshops or...God, what is it they play out on the deck, shuffleboard? There's no point to it," he muttered.

Bill's eyes flashed up at him, and Tom wondered for an instant if Bill weren't as drunk as he seemed to be.

"There's no point," Tom repeated, warming up to his rant. "You're on this cruise for ten days, you know? And I sit around during dinner as it is listening to people talk about what they do, where they come from, re-hashing the same stupid stories about why they're here or what they want to do, and does anyone really care? It's for saving face, being polite. Is anyone really listening to the other person? Or are they only waiting to put in their own few words?"

"Your problem," Bill said, leveling a finger at him, "is that you're a closed-off, misanthropic bastard, locked in your own bitter shell. You're convinced that people don't like you, and couldn't like you, but you're not willing to give them a chance to prove otherwise."

Tom sat up on the couch, jerking his head back to glare at Bill. So maybe every word was true, but what right did Bill have to say it to him? They barely knew each other. Tom wasn't even sure that he wanted to know Bill.

"What makes you say that?" he said stiffly.

Bill leaned forward, patting Tom's knee. His hand rested there familiarly, and Tom looked at it. Bill's fingers were long, slender, and finely-shaped. He had a French manicure, gothic black with white tips, and the index fingers were set with tiny sparkling rhinestones.

"It's okay," Bill was saying. "I was the same way, Tomi. All closed off and letting nothing and no one get through to me. It's miserable; it's no way to live."

"What if you don't have a choice?" Tom asked, intrigued that Bill was being so direct with him. No one had ever approached him quite like this before. No one who wasn't being paid had bothered. "What if that's the way things are, because of the way you live, and what you do?"

Bill waved his hand expressively, overbalancing a little and fixing an earnest, more than a little drink-soaked look on Tom. "What you _do_ is exactly the point," he said severely. "How you talk to people, how you act and how you listen, that's your choice. It's the difference between letting them in and keeping them out." He folded his arms over his skinny chest and nodded decisively a few times.

Tom smirked at Bill and wondered if he'd even remember any of this in the morning. "You're as potted as one of those palm trees up in the Silk Den," he said, riding an unaccountable surge of fondness for this gorgeous young man. He didn't even know him; how could he feel this close to someone?

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," Bill said in an argumentative tone, leaning on Tom's knee again.

Tom's mouth twisted and he looked Bill up and down. The other man had to be in his early to mid twenties, late twenties at the most. "That's all right for you," he said at last, "but I'm probably a lost cause, you know. Too old to make that kind of drastic change in my life."

Bill made a contradicting noise in his throat. "It's never too late to _live_ ," he said. "And that's what it comes down to, you know? Living, or only going through the motions. But that's really up to you, though, isn't it, Tom?" He lapsed against the back of the couch, head sagging onto one hand, and gave Tom an amazingly happy smile considering the subject at hand.

Tom arched a brow and settled himself against the couch, facing forward instead of leaning in to face Bill. It was better to avoid temptation, looking away instead of dwelling on the lush swell of Bill's lower lip, the graceful line of his throat, the fine hollow below his cheekbone. "What about changing teams?" he ventured aloud, and couldn't even blame the burn of alcohol for this one. He was sure he was about to get slapped – Bill had already proved earlier that he was feisty enough to take care of himself. "It's definitely too late for someone my age to..." he trailed off, glancing over at Bill, half-wondering whether Bill would go off into a diatribe on how it was never too late for love.

Then Tom would marshal all his arguments, go into his weary cynical spin on how everyone wanted to take, and take, and no one was in any relationship for love because it was a myth and a lie to cloak human imperfection and keep the race going. When his gaze fell on Bill, though, the young man's head was wedged against the back of the couch and his mouth had fallen open over a soft, bubbling snore.

Tom sighed. "Bill," he said, stretching a hand forth to shake his shoulder. If Bill slept all night like that he'd wake with a terrible crick in his neck.

"You're awfully trusting," he said aloud, and got up from the couch. He gathered Bill up in his arms and transferred him from couch to bed, then contemplated the task before him. He could tug his shoes off – that was within the limits of acceptable, Tom was sure.

Tom got Bill's polished black wing-tips off, tucked the bedclothes around him, and had to disengage the clutch of Bill's hand, which had made its way around several of Tom's dreadlocks and seemed determined to hold fast. At last, Tom pried Bill's hand off and looked down at his slack, peaceful face. A whirl of unsettling emotion was roiling in his center. He wanted to reach down and touch Bill's lips. The urge was so strong in that moment that Tom drew back with a small, sharp intake of breath.

Silently, he let himself out of the cabin, flicking the lights off as he went. He didn't let himself steal another look back.

It really was up to him, but that sounded so simple. Nothing could be so easy.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom woke with a yeasty taste in his mouth and the blare of Tasha, his cruise director, making an announcement over the intercom that was piped in through the hallways, but made its way into his cabin loud enough to rouse him. He rolled over, yawned, gave himself a good scratch, and tried to figure out why he was feeling surprisingly positive for a change.

Bill, the answer rose readily to mind, and Tom shook his head. Trapped dreadlocks snagged beneath his shoulders and he winced, rolling to one side and freeing his hair. He took hold of a handful, remembering the way the other man had gotten a good grip on them the night before, like a trusting child with a security blanket. That image shouldn't have warmed him, but did.

Tom lay on his bed for long moments, watching the slow creep of molten light along the wooden sill across the way. He thought about the slope of Bill's nose and the curve of his lips when he smiled. At last, he gave in without so much as a whimper and pushed a hand down the front of his boxers, taking himself in hand and really going for it.

He called out Bill's name as he came. When he stumbled out of bed to take a shower, he promptly tried to forget it had happened. It was a big ship, after all; he was sure he wouldn't be seeing Bill again.

Who was masochistic enough to voluntarily seek out a misanthropic, bitter bastard like him when there was surely more fun to be had? Bill seemed like the kind of guy who would even make bingo an adventure.

When Tom got out of his shower he realized at last that the boat had stopped moving. He went to the veranda, wrapping a towel around his waist as he strode through the room, and looked out at the line of a golden beach spanning as far as his veranda stretched.

"Nice," he murmured, admiring the cyan-blue of the waters near the shore. Palm trees clustered thickly at the edge of the beaches and there were people small as grains of rice dotting the water here and there. At last, to him it seemed as though he was truly on vacation. He took a deep breath and the knot in his chest loosened.

Tom looked down at his empty table and the thought of having breakfast alone again was overwhelming. He remembered Bill's words from the night before.

Maybe having breakfast on the Lido Deck wouldn't be so bad, he tried to convince himself. He cringed at the prospect of buffet lines, but surely there was a way to make something positive of this.

In the pursuit of formal wear the night before, Tom had flung most of his clothes in drawers and in the cabinet on hangers. He was able to locate shirt and shorts with a minimum of fuss, toed on the new sandals an assistant had bought for him in anticipation of his trip, grabbed his stateroom card and a cap to pull over his dreadlocks in case he made it off the ship and onto that beautiful beach, and he was good to go.

As Tom hauled open his door and stepped out he collided forcibly with another body in motion. The other person went ass over teakettle while Tom braced himself against the door, part of him reflexively twitching over the thought of a lawsuit, especially if it was a boomer with brittle bones.

"Shit, are you okay?" Tom demanded, bending over the downed person and finding Bill peering up at him, shaking mussed dark hair out of his face. "Bill?"

"Good morning – or it will be, once I know you didn't body check me on purpose," Bill said with a cheerful grin.

Tom held out his hand and Bill accepted it, letting Tom help him to his feet. "Of course not," Tom said, flustered. "I didn't think anyone would be...you know, right outside. What are you doing here? We keep bumping into each other all over the ship but I didn't think...you know, that it would be literally."

Bill's cheeky grin brightened a few notches. "I was coming to find you, actually."

"Me?" Tom said, mesmerized by that beautiful smile. It hardly seemed possible. "Why?"

Bill laughed, reaching out to give Tom's arm a pat. "See if you need a little company," he claimed. "You're always going around alone, so..."

"Not always," Tom said, thinking of Mia from the first night, and the blond from the night before. There was always Michael, omni-present Michael. As though summoned, the door up the hallway clicked open and Michael emerged into the hallway, wearing white shorts, a terrifyingly tight blue polo shirt, and Terminator mirror sunglasses. The prompt appearance made Tom wonder if Michael had some sort of tracking chip installed in Tom.

"Security and bimbos don't count," Bill asserted. "Come with me to breakfast."

Tom cocked a brow at him. "You hit your head last night..." He trailed off, leaving the implication open that Bill would require a brain injury to want to spend time with him.

Bill laughed; it was a short, delighted sound. "Honestly, Tom, do you think that poorly of yourself?" He reached out, unasked-for, and took hold of Tom's arm, linking them together and steering him up the hallway. "You must need coffee. Come on, let's go find you some."

"You called me a misanthropic, bitter bastard," Tom reminded him.

Bill's dark eyes peered over at him coyly. "Well, we recognize our own kind, right?" He was wearing a thin red t-shirt today blazoned in black logos that Tom didn't recognize; skulls and angel wings and something in German. He was also wearing long black swim trunks, and slip-on sandals. A pair of sunglasses were perched high on his forehead at his hairline and his streaked hair was pulled back in a wispy tail, a few layers escaping to frame his face with dark tendrils.

"Very funny," Tom said. "I bet you're the life of every party."

Bill shrugged. "It takes practice, when it's not your personal inclination."

Tom raised a brow at him as though to ask, really?

"Really!" Bill said, answering that look with another laugh. "Like I said, Tom, it's a choice. You can choose to be a dick, or be a nice person. It's so much easier to get your way when you're nice." His hip bumped against Tom's, making Tom stare at him. Bill had just hip-checked him; he couldn't remember the last time someone had dared to invade his personal bubble like this.

He was not going to admit that it was refreshing, maybe even endearing as long as it was _Bill._ That would be setting a bad precedent.

Instead, Tom said, "I knew there was an ulterior motive buried in there somewhere," making Bill laugh again.

"Of course," Bill replied, flashing him a teasing little smile.

The only question was, Tom mused, what did Bill want from _him?_ He wanted to tell Bill that he was straight, but some instinct told Tom to hold his tongue.

"You've got gorgeous dreads," Bill told him, as he let go of Tom's arm so that they could navigate the cramped corridors on the way to an elevator that would take them to the Lido Deck.

"Oh," Tom said, "thanks." They were his signature look, after ten years on the music scene. He'd had them for nearly twenty years, and he went to the salon as often as he could to have them tended.

"I have to say, I've never been a fan of the white boy dreadlocks, but you rock them," Bill continued, looking over his shoulder and somehow managing to look demure.

Tom bit his lip. "Well, you know," he said. "My mom was a hippie." It was half that, half the influence of Tom's liberal, rock-n-roll stepfather, but there was no way Tom was bringing that man up. They'd parted ways in the vicious aftermath of a divided bequest and hadn't been in contact since. No matter how many fond memories Tom had of the man from before, thinking of what had happened after Simone's memorial left a lingering pall that would never be gone.

"What, she still isn't?" Bill prompted curiously.

"No, uh...she passed," Tom said, shifting from one foot to the other as they came to a stop by the elevators. He looked away.

"I'm sorry," Bill said, sounding crestfallen. As though he truly meant it. "I didn't..."

"It was a long time ago," Tom dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. He stared at the floor for a moment, wondering if it was too late to excuse himself from this jaunt. He could still turn around, go back to his room, have breakfast on his veranda as planned. When he glanced over to Bill, he realized the other man was fixated on the floor, too, with a stricken look on his face.

Choices, Tom reminded himself. Did he want to keep being a total dick? "Hey," Tom said, and Bill's eyes darted up to his face, anxious. "Let's go get some food."

Bill's face warmed with a slow smile. "They have eggs Benedict," he said enticingly.

"You're one of those skinny guys that can eat anything they want, aren't you?" Tom said, moving forward as one of the elevators pinged to announce its arrival.

Bill laughed. "Yeah," he said, and poked the side of Tom's belly with his thumb in passing. "Looks like you are, too, and the buffet is on."

That was more or less true, Tom had to admit. Georg had often bemoaned Tom's ability to eat an entire pizza, polishing it off with beer, then have cake for good measure and only spend half the time in the gym as Georg himself did.

Upstairs, Tom got through the buffet line by sticking close to Bill's side. Bill excused them cheerfully everywhere they went, and threw elbows when politeness wasn't doing it. They got coffee and two full platefuls apiece and Bill got them settled at a recently-vacated two-top with an amazing view of the beach sprawled out beside them.

"I can't wait to get out there," Bill said dreamily as they settled themselves at the table. He had a chin propped on one hand and he was gazing beach-ward. "It'll be like my vacation has officially started."

"Can't call it a vacation until you've dug your toes in some sand?" Tom ventured.

"Yeah," Bill said with a nod, and returned his attention to Tom, eyes glinting amusement. "Besides, the ship is nice but it's not the same as arriving somewhere and seeing the sights, you know?"

Tom tipped his head, dreadlocks sifting down one side of his face as he regarded the crescent slice of beach dominating the window view. "I guess I'm about to."

"You guess," Bill mimicked, and dug into his eggs.

Tom watched him for a moment, toying with his own fork. He sipped at his coffee. "So, what brings you to this particular cruise?"

Bill regarded him coyly over the rim of his juice glass. He put it down; wiped his lips daintily. "I thought you didn't care about that sort of thing, Tom," he said, straight-faced. His faint accent teased at Tom's brain again, reminding him of something from long ago, some deep-buried memory. Simone's lullabies and a soft hand stroking at his head, a single word uttered against his neck.

Tom frowned. "I..." He looked away.

"It's only being polite, right?" Bill continued, folding his arms and regarding Tom with amusement. "What was it? Conversation isn't really listening, it's only waiting to put forth what you have to say."

"That was drunk talk," Tom said, dismissing it with a wave. He tore his gaze from the tumble of waves over the beach below and stole another glance at Bill, encouraged that he didn't seem truly affronted. "Besides, I...want to know about you."

Bill's mouth formed a pleased smile, then he bit his lip and looked oddly shy. "Well, I...as you can imagine, I hardly came here to rekindle the blown-out pilot light of my boomer romance," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice.

Tom snickered. "I figured." He waved his fork at Bill to continue, then deployed it to cut into his eggs Benedict.

Bill tapped his white-tipped fingernails against his juice glass, making it clink like crystal. "I had a bad break-up, last year. I thought I was in love; he was cheating on me. Since the very beginning, actually – he'd never been faithful."

Tom shook his head, brow gathering in a frown. He couldn't imagine someone being stupid enough to cheat on Bill...someone like Bill, he corrected himself hastily.

"It made me question a lot of things," Bill continued, pushing his juice aside and fidgeting with his silverware instead. "I became a bit of a bastard for a while. I mean, I have been before, but...it was worse than I'd ever been. Basically, I pushed everyone away except for a couple of friends who wouldn't let me." He gave Tom a strained smile.

Tom nodded, expression clearing. Except for the cheating bit, the story was familiar. Hadn't Tom done the very same, with everyone in his life? Ever since his mother had died, his circle had gotten smaller and smaller. The only people who would willingly talk to him now were Andreas and Georg. Part of him wondered if he'd even have those two, if it weren't for the band.

"I'm sorry, this must be really boring..." Bill began in a rush, stabbing at eggs with his fork and scoring the plate with an ear-piercing scrape. With his other hand he fumbled out for the salt shaker.

Tom reached out, not even thinking about it as he covered Bill's fingers with his own. Bill's eyes jolted up to his, shocked.

"It's not," Tom said, low and surprisingly intense to his own ears. "Really. I mean, if you don't want to say, it's one thing, but...I'm listening." Even if he couldn't bring himself to care where most small talk was concerned, he found that he did care when it came to this particular person.

Bill's fingers curled under his on the tablecloth and Tom pulled his hand back hastily. His thumb rubbed over his fingers in a quick, convulsive movement as though attempting to shed the remembrance of Bill's smooth skin beneath his...or memorize it.

"Well, those two friends stood by me," Bill continued, somewhat shaky. He completed his grab for the salt shaker and tapped it over his eggs. He bit his lip for a moment, then looked back to Tom and continued. "They were the ones booked for this cruise. What was it you said? One foot in the sand, the other in the grave?"

"I didn't mean..." Tom began, embarrassed now. He wouldn't have been half so blunt if he'd thought Bill would remember every damned word. Obviously Bill hadn't been as drunk as he'd seemed.

"No, it's okay," Bill said. He reached up to push back a tendril of dark hair that was tickling one cheek. "That's them, Irma and Stan. They go on so many cruises; they're trying to pack every last bit of excitement and fun into their lives because they know any month could be their last. So...Irma had to go into the hospital to have some arteries removed, they were so blocked."

Tom inhaled and held it briefly, not sure what to say to that. What was there to say?

"They gave me the tickets," Bill continued. "Air and cruise and everything; I already had my passport, of course."

Tom wondered about the 'of course' and opened his mouth to ask, but Bill was already continuing.

"And I know it's a couple's cruise, and I tried to turn them down, but they said...I needed it," Bill continued with a shrug. He gave Tom one of his brilliant smiles, and Tom marveled that it was so unforced. "It was a really hard year, but I came out of it determined to make the right choices, from now on. You know?"

Tom looked down at his plate, suddenly ashamed. It was the sort of thing his mom would have said to him once upon a time, speaking directly from the heart. He'd managed to forget, all this time.

"What about you?" Bill continued, his tone lilting into something determinedly cheerful. "You're letting me monopolize the conversation, Tom."

 _Tomi,_ a whisper intruded from the night before, and Tom frowned again. There was something so familiar there.

"You can have it," Tom said, referring to the conversation. He dumped his napkin on to the table and leaned back in a leisurely stretch. "I don't really want to talk about me."

Bill's eyes widened. "It's only fair," he protested, pushing his lips together in a faint moue. "I tell you my small woes, you disclose what brings you, another single, on this couples cruise?"

Tom groaned, slouching down in his chair. "I wanted a vacation in Fiji," he confided. "But all I said was, I wanted a vacation..." He trailed off, leaving out the other criteria that had been a factor.

"Next thing you knew, you were booked for an old folks' cruise?" Bill said, giving him an impish grin.

"Yeah," Tom said, reaching up to scratch at the base of a patch of dreads near his ear. He shook his head. "My manager's got a hell of a sense of humor. I'm..." He trailed off, shying away from the subject of his impending decrepitude.

"You're hardly old enough," Bill filled in the blank, his dark eyes holding Tom's, very much amused now.

Tom made a scoffing noise, but he wasn't about to ask Bill how old he thought he was. Tom himself had never been great at that particular guessing game. He shoveled in the last few bites of his breakfast and regarded the slice of beach with increasing wistfulness.

"Spend the day with me," Bill said abruptly, making Tom's head swing up and around to meet Bill's gaze again.

"Wh-what?" Tom sputtered. He wanted to ask why, but he knew he was too enchanted to refuse, regardless of what the answer might be. Simply being around Bill made Tom feel good about himself, and that was something that hadn't happened in years. He couldn't let go of it now.

"You don't have any excursions booked, do you?" Bill continued, his lovely brown eyes pleading with Tom.

Tom would've been tempted to say no if he _had_ , the way Bill was looking at him. "N-no, but why...?"

Bill tipped his head to the side, folding one hand beneath his chin as he hesitated. "Because...we singles should stay together?" he offered. "I'm going on the catamaran trip in twenty minutes, the trip with snorkeling and a light lunch provided on the boat. You should come; you'll like it."

 _I'll like it because it's with you_ was on the tip of Tom's tongue to say, but it was early, way too early to say something like that.

"We've probably got just enough time for you to buy a ticket before we have to leave the ship and get there," Bill continued enticingly.

"I bet they're all sold out," Tom muttered.

Bill cocked his head. "Won't know until we try," he said.

It was the 'we' that decided Tom, though if he was honest with himself, he'd been hooked the instant that Bill had offered.

"All right," Tom said, pushing his chair back from the table.

Bill's brilliant grin was reward enough by itself. He clapped his hands, delighted, and rose from his own chair. "See, and you're already wearing swim trunks. This is perfect."

"We'd better have enough time to stop and get snorkeling gear," Tom warned him. "I am _not_ using someone else's."

Bill's grin, if anything, widened. "Germophobe?" he questioned. "It's okay, Tomi; we'll take care of you."

And so Tom found himself purchasing a ticket for the catamaran expedition at one of the kiosks located beside the Lido restaurant. He had enough time to alert Michael as to what was going on, but not to go back to his room for a towel. Fortunately, the ship provided fresh towels for them; there was a whole table laid out near the gangway as they left.

"Hurry, you wanted snorkel gear and I forgot sunblock!" Bill puffed, reaching out and seizing Tom's hand to draw him along.

Tom blinked and let himself be drawn. Bill's long nails dug into his palm as they ran up the pier, sandals slapping.

They had enough time to buy sunblock at an exorbitant price that made Bill whine, and some snorkel gear – Tom bought a set for each of them, figuring Bill wouldn't mind if he didn't have to use a mouthpiece that had been gnawed on by God alone knew how many people before him. They made the boat, and Tom waved at the solitary figure of Michael standing at the end of the pier, hands clasped, in the statue-like sort of pose that implied he'd wait unmoving until Tom's return. There had only been one ticket left for the catamaran.

"You didn't ask why I have a bodyguard," Tom observed, dropping into a seat on the towel that Bill had spread out on the deck for the both of them.

Bill shrugged, giving him a faint smile. "I figure if it was important or you wanted to tell me, you'd let me know," he replied.

Tom raised a brow. "That's a remarkable lack of curiosity."

"Not at all! I have a perfectly healthy curiosity," Bill said cheerfully. "But I don't want to seem pushy, it's so unattractive." He wrinkled his nose.

Tom laughed aloud.

"That's nice," Bill said softly.

Tom gave him an inquiring look.

"That laugh," Bill clarified. He pushed Tom's shoulder, then twisted his lithe body to face the rail of the catamaran as they pulled out of the bay. "Sounds like you're finally starting to relax."

Tom peeled off his shirt, lounged back on his elbows, and watched the spray of ocean waves slap against the side of the small ship as they knifed through the water. It was true, he mused. There was a weightless sensation in the middle of his chest that he hadn't experienced in the longest time. It was the absence of something, right now, but it was making room for something else, Tom thought.

"Hey," Bill said, tugging at a dreadlock and drawing Tom's attention back to him.

Tom glanced over, and the sight of Bill half-sprawled against the railing, his face alight with a smile, had all the impact of a fist to his ribs. He had to catch his breath before he could croak a response.

"I need some help with that sunblock," Bill prompted him, and peeled his red t-shirt off without further ado.

Tom decided that he must have done something right in his life, finally.

It was not so much an actual surrender than it was opening himself to possibility, Tom was discovering, as he focused on Bill's lean back and the gentle curve that led from graceful spine down to the slight swell of buttocks from tiny hips. He covered his hands with sunblock and worked it over Bill's skin from the wells behind his ears, over the nape of his neck as Bill held his wispy tail of hair out of the way, over the supple muscles in his back. He found himself making caressing sweeps with palmsful of sunblock, giving Bill the excuse of making sure he wasn't missing a spot in order to take a second pass at that creamy pale skin, soft beneath the pads of his fingertips.

"Thank you," Bill said at last, turning and tucking his knees to his chest. The glint of something silver sparked high on his chest; a small ring circled his left nipple. He gave Tom a sweet smile.

Tom turned his own back to avoid flashing his indecency at Bill; the natural result of dwelling his hands over all that touchable skin. "Could you...?" He hastily pressed his knees together and spared a grateful thought for baggy swim trunks.

"Of course," Bill replied. "Hold your dreads out of the way for me?"

Tom trailed his fingers through the ends, noticed they were getting dismayingly ratty and hoped it was the sea air, and gathered them up off his neck.

At the first touch of Bill's fingers to the nape of his neck, Tom closed his eyes. He hoped they'd be getting in the water soon, because that would quench even the thought of an erection right quick. Bill's hands traversed his back with a firm touch, smoothing sunblock over him yet somehow managing to work out residual tension in their wake.

"Ugh," Tom said, tipping his head forward as Bill's thumbs dug into the knots of muscle to either side of his spine, low on his back. "You're hired." It was less a sunblock spreading and more a massage, now.

Bill answered that with a chuckle and another rub to Tom's back. "What if I'm not for sale?" he responded.

Tom swiveled, stricken. "I didn't mean..."

"It's okay, Tom," Bill reassured him. There was a sly twinkle to his amber-brown eyes. "I know it was a joke."

Tom nodded and settled back on the towel as their expedition crew members stepped forth, launching into detailed explanations on snorkeling, the site at which they would be stopping, the horn blast that would signify all swimmers had to return to the boat, what time lunch would be served, and so forth. Tom tried not to let his attention wander too much, but the beauty of the reefs and sea all around them, not to mention the warmth of Bill sprawled next to him, were too much to focus on as it was. He set aside his NY-embossed New Era cap and put a bottle of water on the brim to weigh it down, then began to roll his dreadlocks up off his neck to stuff them under his swim cap.

When they splashed into the water and Tom adjusted his gear, the water took him into a cool embrace and Tom dipped his face mask below the surface, already captivated by the play of sunlight over the reefs below the surface. A touch to his arm brought him back up and he was looking into Bill's face mask, moving aside to make room for other snorkelers to plunge into the water.

Bill gestured with his chin then kicked his fins, beginning to move off as though in pursuit of the sunlight, which was currently getting chased by clouds.

Tom followed, dipping his face into the water and floating on his belly, fluttering his hands occasionally to stay in place and watch swarms of colored fish darting in and around the coral. He was weightless, and moved as though he were flying above the reef. There were fish in all colors and sizes everywhere. Tom tried to keep Bill's fins in sight as the other man splashed about happily, kicking up agitated reef inhabitants in his wake.

Time stretched forever, floating in the turquoise water as Tom chased after Bill, gave up and followed a ridge of thick coral clustered over with huge sponges in shades of green and grey and brown, and lacelike fans jutting up and waving in the ocean current. He found himself chased, in turn, dimly hearing the tell-tale splash of Bill floundering through the water toward him.

Tom scooped his hands against the water to turn, then saw something red bobbing along the bottom, some fifteen feet below the surface. It took a moment to register, then his eyes widened in horror. He jerked his face up out of the water and spat out his snorkel.

"My cap!" he exclaimed, flicking a handful of water at Bill to catch his attention.

Sputtering, Bill surfaced nearby. An unintelligible noise issued from the stem of his snorkel; Tom interpreted it as 'huh?'

"My New Era cap, it's down there on the bottom!" Tom said, flutter-kicking to tread water as he gestured with one hand below the surface. "It must have pitched over the side of the boat."

Bill lowered his face to peer at it, then came up and pulled aside his snorkel mouthpiece. "Leave it," he said, laughing. "The sea wants it, don't you think?"

"It's one of my favorites," Tom mourned.

"You want to try to dive for it?" Bill invited.

Tom considered it, then shook his head. "Guess not," he said dubiously, but he was thinking about it anyhow. His dreadlocks would probably get soaked through his swim cap, but the New Era cap was something important to him, so...

A short horn blast answered by a long one issued through the air, and their heads turned toward the catamaran.

"They're ready to go to the second site," Bill said, reaching up to adjust his snorkel as it bumped into his nose. Water lapped around his neck and shoulders and the sun was brilliant around him, highlighting his luminously pale skin.

"Yeah," Tom said, distracted, although he was no longer thinking of the red NY cap.

"I can tell them to hold the boat while you dive for it?" Bill offered.

"It's okay," Tom said, and he wanted to reach out a hand to touch Bill in that instant, as though to check and see if he was real. "The sea wants it, right? So it's meant to be, or something."

Bill laughed, took in a mouthful of water and sputtered, and shook his head at Tom as he fitted his mouthpiece again.

Back to the catamaran, Tom inferred, and did likewise. They swam side by side as the sea lapped silken waves around them and Tom tried to remember the last time he'd felt such utter peace enfolding him. He backed off to let Bill scale the ladder up the side of the boat first, and that had the distinct advantage of giving Tom an unparalleled view of Bill's backside, drenched swim trunks clinging to the minimal curves of his ass and fit, lean thighs.

Changing teams was no longer an issue, so long as Tom's libido was concerned. There was only Team Bill.

They settled down on their shared towel for the lunch that was provided, while Tom wound a towel around his neck and shoulders and Bill wrapped his around his waist, giving Tom a demure and perhaps unintentional flash of leg.

Tom found himself admiring them openly, whether it had been intended or not. "Hey," he said, noticing a complete absence of the fine, dark dusting of hair that had been there before. "Did you...did you shave?"

Bill flipped hair out of his eyes and blushed. He leaned back on his elbows and looked out over the ship. "I got a wax at the spa the other day," he said, lowering his voice as though it were a secret he was sharing.

Tom shifted onto his side, facing him. "Full body?" he wanted to know, fascinated. He did certain areas, himself, simply because he liked to be hairless here and there and it kept his pits free of hair for a longer time than shaving alone, but...

Bill flashed him a cheeky smile. "Wouldn't you like to know," he taunted, getting up and going to fetch some of the food that was being doled out by the expedition staff.

Gazing off at the sunlit-molten sea, Tom had to admit that he did want to know.

He came back with sandwiches, bottled water, and a heavy cluster of grapes still attached to a thick stem.

"So," Bill said, unwrapping his sandwich and attacking it. Around his mouthful, he continued, "Better than you thought? Or are you terribly bored?"

"Wouldn't have missed it," Tom said truthfully, but it was the company that made all the difference, he knew.

They ate in silence for a while, then Bill plucked a grape and held it out for Tom between finger and thumb. He'd probably meant for Tom to grab it, and so they were both a little surprised when Tom leaned forward and nipped it from Bill's fingers with his lips. He brushed against Bill's skin, but only barely.

"Ooh," Bill said, with an intake of breath. A challenging glint entered his eyes. "Hungry, Tomi?"

Tom snapped his teeth and opened his mouth again after swallowing the grape, by way of answer.

Bill grinned and selected another grape, popping it into Tom's open mouth before Tom could even move.

"I'll take care of that, don't even worry," Bill purred, and the low tease of his tone sent a pleasant jolt right to Tom's groin. He held out another grape and Tom closed his lips around it, tugging with teeth this time when Bill was slow to relinquish his hold.

There were only a few grapes left on the stem and the pace of Bill's grape-feeding slowed, drawing it out. Occasionally his thumb or finger would brush against Tom's lower lip, lingering. Tom lifted his chin into the touch, closing his eyes. Bill was seducing him with only this much, these soft, chaste touches.

There was a long pause and Tom opened his eyes. He watched an unreadable expression flicker over Bill's face as he held up a grape between thumb and forefinger, then lifted it to his own mouth.

Tom hitched forward on the towel, a pang of disappointment going through him. Then Bill set the grape between his teeth and leaned forward suggestively, one brow hiking in a silent challenge.

Before Tom quite registered he was moving, he gripped Bill by the elbow to hold him in place, lifting one hand to cup the side of Bill's face and shift him to a better angle. He plucked at the grape with his own lips, snagging it from Bill's grasp with the barest brush of their mouths.

Bill retreated, his lashes lowering to veil his eyes as Tom munched thoughtfully on his grape. Bill tasted of sea-spray and sandwich. Tom was pretty sure that he wanted more.

When Bill leaned in again with a second grape placed strategically, Tom didn't even hesitate. This time he reached up and tugged at a sidelock of Bill's hair, getting him in range and snatching the grape from between Bill's lips, brushing their mouths together even longer. The grape split between his teeth and released its juices, but Tom was pretty sure now there was nothing sweeter than Bill.

He'd need another taste. Just to be sure.

Bill was grinning hard enough this time that he fumbled the grape a few times, finally setting it between his teeth and leaning in.

With a low moan, Tom reached up and cupped the back of Bill's neck, reeling him in close. He pried the grape from Bill's teeth with his tongue, crushed and swallowed it, and pressed their mouths together in an outright kiss.

"Muh," Bill said against his mouth, and Tom slipped his tongue right in.

They kissed and Bill crowded closer, fitting his lips to Tom's again and again as Tom shared the grape-chased flavor between them. Bill was making the most delicious little noises as Tom licked over his bottom lip and sought his tongue, and Bill's tongue stud pressed against him with slow, careful strokes.

They made out until the taste of the grapes they'd shared was gone, and there was only Bill. Bill cupped Tom's face as though he were something precious, his smooth hand stroking Tom's cheek and nails digging in when Tom tried to move away as though Tom were something worth holding onto.

Tom nipped at Bill's lower lip then released it, sitting back on their shared towel. His stomach was tight with arousal and they'd only kissed.

Bill flashed a secretive smile his way and his dark eyes were hooded. His lips were red, a little swollen, and Tom wanted to do it again.

"Champagne?" said a voice nearby, and Tom's attention was pulled away as an excursion staff person loomed close, extending a flute of golden-sparkling bubbly.

Tom made a noncommittal noise and reached one long arm out, snagging the champagne flute. He passed it over to Bill, who smiled again and tipped it to his mouth. He watched Bill drink for a moment, then a throat-clearing noise drew his attention back to the staff person, who was holding out another flute for him.

"Oh," Tom said, and made a grab for it.

He downed it fast and stretched himself out, watching the play of expression over Bill's face as he set his own empty flute beside himself. Tom inched forward and Bill mirrored the gesture, bracing on his elbow and bringing his face within range.

Certain now that he wasn't misreading Bill, Tom closed the distance again. He stroked a hand into the layered hair framing the side of Bill's face, twining his fingers in it as though to prevent Bill's escape, and captured Bill's mouth in a slow, champagne-heavy kiss.

Bill made a noise deep in his throat and parted his lips. The tip of his tongue flicked out to meet Tom's, then withdrew. Encouraged, Tom pressed forward and pursued Bill's tongue with his own. They licked their tongues against and past one another and Tom had to draw a leg up to hide his growing arousal. He bumped against Bill's knee with his own.

"You," Tom breathed, his voice ragged, "are gorgeous enough to wreck a man."

Bill licked at his wet bottom lip and flashed innocent eyes at him.

"Oh, no you don't," Tom told him, leaning in and kissing him again.

When Bill sent one warm hand smoothing over Tom's waist, Tom growled and hauled their bodies together, kissing him harder. Bill flinched as their bare chests came into contact, but he didn't break the kiss.

When they broke, panting, Tom glanced around with a belated thought that they were giving the entire catamaran quite a show. He was shocked to realize that the deck was virtually empty and the ship was bobbing softly on the waves rather than moving against them. A single crew member remained to tend the ship, and he was hunched over the wheel gazing in the opposite direction.

"Hey," Tom said, petting a hand down Bill's supple arm, teasing his thumb against Bill's wrist. "We're at the other snorkeling site."

"Who cares," Bill murmured, and sank his fingers into Tom's dreadlocks, tugging him forward into another kiss.

Bill rubbed his mouth against Tom's, soft and slow. They angled together again, noses bumping gently, and Bill made a low exclamation in the back of his throat. Tom slanted his mouth over Bill's again, hard. He kissed over Bill's mouth with delicate nips of his lips, and when that wasn't enough, opened Bill's mouth to his tongue. Bill made another noise in his throat and Tom inhaled sharply, rolling their bodies together on the towel, one hand set low on the warm, smooth skin of Bill's lower back because he wasn't yet sure how a hand on the ass would be received. They kissed harder, longer. Bill's tongue was warm in his mouth, agile, stroking around and exploring – he was an active lover, Tom could tell by the way he kissed. The prospect excited Tom.

Tom kissed and licked and nibbled at Bill's mouth until breath was gone and Bill was pushing an insistent hand against his sternum. "We're here," Bill's breathless, softly accented voice said against his cheek. "Tom, we're back at the pier."

"Umph," Tom responded, and busied himself with gathering up his things, after risking himself and stretching up to place another kiss to Bill's high cheekbone. He had to tie a towel around his waist in order to waddle off the ship and the excursion staff gave him knowing looks as he disembarked, but Tom considered the whole thing to be worth it. He left the catamaran with a ridiculous grin, overtipped, and gave Michael a jaunty wave as they walked up the pier.

"You want to go lie out on the beach?" Tom asked, reaching one hand intending to place it at Bill's back, near his waist, then drawing back. He didn't quite think he had the right.

He remembered Bill's dinner companion calling him a tease, and suddenly wondered over that. Bill had had a bad break-up. Maybe he and Tom had completely different expectations over what was happening.

"Shit, what time is it?" Bill asked suddenly, whirling on him.

Tom dug around his things, but he hadn't brought a watch or a cell phone. He looked over his shoulder and tapped his wrist at Michael, who held up four fingers.

"Four o'clock," Tom replied.

Bill shook his head. "We'd better get back to the ship; it departs at four-thirty."

"Fair enough," Tom said amiably. The lure of the beach was strong, if only to dig his toes in and say he'd been there, but the prospect of beating a last-minute jam of people rushing the gangplank was a good idea.

On the pier that led back to their ship, Bill tugged at Tom's arm to bring him to a stop. "Hold up, I've got a camera," he said.

Tom grimaced.

"Please?" Bill wheedled, widening eyes at Tom that were rapidly proving impossible to resist. At Tom's nod, he turned and flagged down a couple who were returning to the ship. "Do you think you could take our picture? With the two of us and the New Amsterdam in the background."

"Of course," the woman responded.

Bill plastered himself hip to hip with Tom, grinning so brilliantly that Tom could sense it even without looking, and it made his own mouth tug upward in a genuine smile.

"Lovely," the woman proclaimed, clicking the shutter. "Are the two of you brothers?"

Tom blinked at her and Bill uttered a shocked laugh.

"No way! We're not related; we just met," he proclaimed, accepting the camera.

"Ah, sorry," the woman apologized. "Your smiles, they're so alike."

Tom's brow knotted and Bill waved it off, slipping the camera back into his bag. "They say happiness transcends expression." He gave them a cheery wave and moved off, hooking an arm through Tom's.

The woman's face creased in a puzzled smile but she said nothing, waving in return.

Tom looked at Bill's profile and he could see it; the resemblance in the strong profile, the shape of their mouths. He frowned and recalled the familiarity of Bill's accent. Common stock, he thought, and was sure without being told that Bill was German, first generation for sure.

After boarding, Tom nerved himself when they reached the juncture of hallway where they would part ways. He grasped at Bill's arm, taking hold of his smooth forearm and stammering, "Come to dinner with me."

Bill stopped in place as though riveted; turned slowly.

Tom's stomach performed a few sickly revolutions as he waited for Bill's response. Maybe he really had misunderstood.

"In the dining room?" Bill ventured. "Open seating?"

Tom shook his head, making dreadlocks fan out over his shoulders. He reached up to tug self-consciously at a cap that was no longer there, and rubbed sheepishly at his hairline. "No, the grill."

Bill raised a brow, but he was beginning to smile again. "Why not the dining room?" he pressed, his eyes searching Tom's.

"Because then I wouldn't be taking you out," Tom said boldly. "The grill's formal. My treat." And he held his breath again.

Bill's glorious smile was response enough. "Your treat," he repeated, and bit his lower lip. "You can pick me up at seven."

Tom nodded dumbly, too overwhelmed to speak. It was a date.

What was he thinking? He watched Bill's tight little butt sashay up the hallway as he walked away from Tom. He mumbled to himself, "You're in way over your head, Trümper."


	5. Chapter 5

"It's going to be all right. Deep breaths."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea..."

"Just think of it as part of the bodyguard vacation package," Tom advised, clapping the big man on the shoulder. Michael was so insanely tall that Tom, who was used to towering above any crowd, had a bit of a height complex next to him. "This is your vacation too, in a way."

"I doubt Mr. Strauss would look at it that way," Michael said dubiously.

Tom was getting desperate. He had only five minutes to find Bill's cabin before he'd be considered delinquent, and the last thing he wanted to do was give his beautiful date the impression that he was standing him up. The taste of Bill's lips, salt from the sea and faintly sweet from champagne, was still vivid in his sense-memory. Bill had kissed with the most flattering intensity, as though he were really present in the moment and only thinking of Tom's lips against his.

Tom couldn't even pretend to himself that he didn't want more. He was ready to go for it, even if he freaked out the morning after.

"No one knows me here," Tom said patiently. "It's why Andi booked me for this cruise to begin with, yeah? And come on, think about it - even if anyone did recognize me it would probably be one, two at the most, polite old ladies asking for an autograph for their grandkids."

Michael gave him an unconvinced look and Tom rubbed at his neck, peering at his wristwatch.

"Or you could sit at the bar across the way and drink Cuba Libres without the Libre," Tom offered glumly. He'd really hoped for at least one night without security observing his each and every move. The prospect that he might actually get lucky had also occurred.

The conflict was evident on Michael's face. He was straining between the dictates laid on him by his contract and maybe, just maybe, the desire to do something fun by himself for a night.

Tom tried out a word that he hadn't made use of in quite some time. "Um, please?"

Michael's eyes widened. He'd probably never heard Tom say it. "Well, if you're absolutely certain you won't be needing my services this evening..."

"I'm certain," Tom said firmly. "Look, I promise I won't tell Andreas. Why would I? I'd be telling on me, too." He despised the fact that he had to wheedle his bodyguard like a teenager begging a favor of a parent in order to give them both a night off, but at this point he'd do whatever it took.

"All right," Michael finally said. "Have a good evening. Make sure to page me through the ship's intercom system if you really do encounter any trouble--"

"Will do," Tom said, waving him off and thinking to himself that he'd rather die first. He jogged up the hallway with one hand hidden behind his back.

Even though he'd been mildly buzzed the other day when he'd taken Bill back to his cabin, he found the door again with no problem. He hesitated before it, though, unsure whether he'd gotten the right number. He glanced up and down the hall. Every featureless door was the same as the next, but for programs and newsletters that had been tucked into the mail cubby beside the door. He lifted his hand to knock anyhow and the door before him opened before his knuckles made contact.

"Hi," Bill said, making surprised eyes at him and widening the door. "I thought you might be out here."

"Wow," Tom managed, looking Bill up and down. He couldn't help it.

Bill was wearing a closely-tailored tux in a charcoal grey so dark it was almost black. The fabric had a subtle shimmer to it and looked as though it might be soft to the touch like micro-fiber. His cummerbund was a rich wine-red and his dress shirt had pleats in front; it was white and so fine a material it was almost see-through. A neatly done cravat in the same shimmery charcoal grey was done up at his throat. He was still gorgeous, wearing gloss and smoky shadow that brought out his luminous beauty, but there was a knife's edge of masculinity to Bill in formal men's wear.

Tom's gut tightened instantly with a need so keen it was painful, and that answered one question right off. Bill looking like a boy - a man - albeit a very pretty one, didn't put him off in the least.

God, was he really going to do this?

Tom consoled himself with the thought that he could always blame it on 'midlife crisis,' then tried to banish the notion. That wasn't fair to himself; it wasn't fair to _Bill_ \- then he marveled for a split second over how unlike his usual self that was. Didn't make it any less true, though.

"Um...here," Tom said, bringing up the hand that had been sheltered behind his back.

Bill's eyes lit up with amusement as he accepted the somewhat drooping red rose from Tom. "You got this from a room arrangement, didn't you?" he accused.

Tom shifted from one foot to the other, ducking his head sheepishly. Of course Bill would see right through him; he probably had the same or similar floral arrangement in his own suite. "Yeah, I..." I'm no good at this, he was about to excuse himself. The last time he'd been on a date had been high school, and he'd been pretty crappy at it then, too. He was the make-out-in-back-seats type rather than any sort of Casanova.

"It's sweet," Bill said, flashing him a wide smile. He took the rose in both hands and snapped the stem off near the head, then threaded the barely-opened blossom through the empty buttonhole of his left lapel. "Really; thank you. I was giving you a hard time. One moment while I find something to pin this."

Tom leaned to one side of the door and admired the fitted cut of Bill's pants as he turned and opened a cabinet, rummaging through something that clinked and jingled.

"You look good," Bill said appreciatively when he returned to Tom.

"Like hell; I look like a clown," said Tom wryly. He'd looked in a mirror and knew well enough.

"No one looks like a clown wearing Armani," Bill claimed, drifting forward and taking hold of Tom's arm. "Come on, let's go, before I start devouring the scenery."

Tom raised his brows and tried not to smirk. Too much.

"Oh, is this Armani?" he said instead.

Bill made a scoffing noise low in his throat.

"Seriously though, I don't think the white boy dreads go very well with dinner formalwear..." Tom continued.

"Well, I didn't say you looked appropriate, I said you looked good," Bill said with a laugh.

"Ah," Tom said, "I appreciate the distinction."

The Pinnacle Grill was an upscale establishment, a cut above the dining room and from what Tom had gleaned from overhearing dinner conversation amongst his fellow guests, the menu was beyond anything else the ship's other restaurants had to offer as well. Located on the second deck in the midship area, it was flanked on one side with a balcony that wrapped around the midship glass staircase, and on the other with a view of the ocean blackness that was all they could expect from the time of day.

Carved, decorated columns supported an arch that led into the restaurant. The name was spelled out in marble tile over the entryway.

"Classy," Bill murmured at his side as they hovered in a brief line. He released his grip on Tom's arm and examined a piece of statuary in a recessed niche beside the restaurant. It was a female bust, resembling a figurehead that might hang from some ship's prow.

Tom placed a hand to Bill's lower back as they moved through the arch. An older couple, a man and a woman, hovered nearby and the woman kept making eye contact with Tom and glancing away. Her eyes flicked over Bill, then Tom, then she looked away and shook her head, leaning in close to her male companion and whispering something. He simply raised his brows and shrugged. Tom glared at her the next time she looked his way and she jerked her head up, turning away and presenting her back.

They were seated in a small alcove away from general seating, and Tom had tipped generously in advance to make sure that would be the case. He was a little self-conscious, it was true; or had been, before meeting Bill at the door. Mostly he wanted to ensure they had some privacy.

After giving the menu a look and determining there was no question that his entree would involve lobster, Tom set it aside, folded his hands, and fixed his attention on Bill.

Bill was still perusing the menu, chewing absently at his lower lip.

"So, I know what I'm doing here, I know what you're doing here...but what do you do? For a living, I mean," Tom asked at last. It had almost slipped his mind for the most part, overwhelmed as he'd been at Bill's sheer presence. "That first day I kind of thought you were offering me an autograph."

"Oh," Bill said, lifting his menu a little higher as though to disguise the redness creeping over his cheeks. "That."

"You weren't?" Tom prodded.

"I'm not the only one with a remarkable lack of curiosity, am I?" Bill parried, setting his menu aside and resting his cheek on one slender hand. "This is the sort of question that should have come up earlier, you know. You really aren't used to making small talk, are you?"

"I'm terrible at it," Tom said bluntly. "I usually leave it to...other people." Their PR staff or their front man, Tom finished in his thoughts, and wasn't quite sure why he was still skirting the topic of his own career with Bill.

Bill smiled at him, then looked out over the restaurant. The interior of the Pinnacle was dim, intimate. There were tables scattered throughout, forming their own little islands of white tablecloth. Couples and occasionally foursomes were seated here and there, each table warmed by the glow of a tiny oil lamp. Sprays of baby breath and carnation were flanked by slim white salt and pepper shakers and sweetener dishes. Their table was tucked aside in a corner between a curving dark wall and wall to ceiling glass that gave a view of black ocean and cloud-riddled dark sky.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Bill said with a wave of his hand. "It's refreshing not to deal with triviality or ass-kissing."

Tom raised his brows. It was a surprising sentiment from Bill, who'd been so cheery with him so far. "Well, you won't get any of that from me." He trailed off when their waiter approached to introduce himself and take their orders. Bill proved as decisive as Tom, having made all of his selections as well.

"Don't think I don't realize what you're doing," Tom commented, amused, when the waiter had left their table.

"Hmm?" Bill looked up with inquisitive dark eyes that danced in the light cast by the oil lantern. "What, ordering the same courses as you? Coincidence."

"No, you're dodging the subject," Tom replied. "What do you do for a living? Are you a celebrity? Should I be embarrassed I don't recognize you?"

Bill arched a brow, then devoted his attention to his water goblet. "You're going to think it's stupid," he mumbled, then seized his glass and drank as though parched.

"Okay, now my curiosity has been engaged," Tom assured him. "And why would I think it's stupid? Come on, tell me." He wasn't used to wheedling but did his best to give Bill a persuasive smile.

Bill picked his napkin up as though to wipe his mouth, and mumbled into it.

"What was that?" Tom prompted, not catching it.

Bill looked away, wrinkling his nose. "Travelogue writer," he muttered.

"Huh?" Tom grunted, sure he'd heard it wrong.

"I'm a travelogue writer; okay, Tom?" Bill snapped, tossing his napkin down into his lap like it had personally offended him.

"Wow," Tom said, for lack of anything more intelligent to say. "Uh, so, do you get to travel a lot?"

"Oh, yes," Bill said matter of factly. "Most expenses paid."

"Awesome," Tom said, struggling for something else to say about that. He had nothing. He barely knew what a travelogue _was_ , let alone what the work involved.

Bill seemed to realize this, though, and was smirking faintly at Tom as though daring him to carry on the conversation, or make an awkward transition to something else. He picked up his water goblet again, eyes speculative as they dwelled on Tom.

"But, wait a minute," Tom recalled. "That first time I saw you, the couple behind you were saying something about how they'd seen you on TV. About how you're as good-looking in person." He added that last deliberately, hoping to fluster Bill, and was gratified by the flush he got in response.

"Yes, well," Bill floundered, then drew himself up. "My pieces were popular enough that I was asked to do a travel segment on cable television, and it...sort of took off."

Tom raised a brow. "All right," he said. "Exactly how popular are you?"

"Moderate," Bill replied, making a little face. "I'm really big with our cruise demographic, actually. My segment is popular with the boomers, the retired jet-setters, older housewives who get their husbands to cruise with them a few times a year."

Tom propped his chin on his hand and nodded. "And yet they haven't molested you," he observed.

Bill blinked at him. "Well, they're nice to me, I've given out some autographs...molest me?"

"Never mind," Tom dismissed it with a shake of his head.

"I'm pretty enough that the ladies think I'm adorable, but their husbands don't see me as a threat," Bill continued, dropping a wink.

Tom grinned. "You're adorable, all right..." he began.

Bill picked at a piece of bread that their waiter had set on the table and tossed it in Tom's direction. "Be nice, or I won't be nice to you later," he threatened.

Tom widened his eyes. That was a pretty direct hint that if he played his cards right he would, in fact, get lucky. Before he could mess up the moment with his own awkward, the sommelier came by to take their drink orders, and Tom got them a few bottles of table wine. The appetizers were delivered shortly after.

"There's something I don't get," Tom said after he'd soaked up the last bite of escargot from his plate with a crust of bread, and sat admiring Bill swooning over his last bite of lobster bisque.

"Mm?" Bill responded, opening his eyes and setting his spoon aside at last.

Tom pushed his escargot fork around the gold-limned rim of his plate for a moment, trying to figure how best to phrase it. "Why me?" he said at last. "Of anyone to hang with on this cruise, you seem to want to spend time with me. I..." He trailed off, giving a slight headshake, glancing up to Bill's face every now and then.

Bill looked puzzled at first, then surprise crossed his face, followed by something that resembled either sympathy or pity; it went through his expression too swiftly for Tom to pin the look down. At last, Bill laced his hands before him and gave Tom unreadable eyes.

"Why _me_?" Bill responded, turning the question back around on him. "Why did you say yes?"

 _Because I would've been stupid to say no,_ the thought flitted through Tom's brain, but he wasn't fevered enough to say it aloud. "It's about choices, right? You said it. The ones I've made up until now haven't exactly made me happy, you know...so, maybe it's time to make new ones."

Bill's brow rose, then he smiled down at his folded hands. It was a reflective little smile, making Tom wonder if Bill was pleased or simply remembering something that provoked the smile.

Before he could ask, though, their plates were cleared and the entrees were served. They'd both gotten broiled lobster tail with filet mignon and conversation had to wait for a few moments while Tom carved up his steak into roughly equal pieces and was riveted by the sight of Bill enveloping each alternating bite of lobster and filet mignon with soft, orgasmic noises of appreciation.

"So," Tom picked up the earlier thread of conversation. "Back to my question. Clearly I'm the best-looking option on the ship, but..." He waggled his brows at Bill, who was still chewing with a blissful expression on his face.

Bill swallowed, grinned at him in response, and busied himself with a mouthful of wine.

"...you may or may not have noticed, I'm kind of an asshole," Tom finished, and stopped up his mouth with his own bite of steak. It was delicious, practically melting in his mouth and saturated with flavor.

Bill set his wine glass down and toyed with the stem. "I'm not put off by assholes," he said, and grinned again, this time a bit rueful. "I've dated my fair share. Sometimes I wonder if it's the only kind of guy I'm attracted to...and you can knock me for sounding stupid and clichéd, but you're different."

Tom finished his mouthful and repeated, "Different?"

Bill's nails tapped softly against his glass, making the glass bowl chime dully. "It's like you're hiding something," he said quietly. He lifted up dark eyes that were almost scarily intense for an instant, then grinned disarmingly. "Maybe a marshmallow gooey core that you're afraid will ooze all over everything if you get split open."

"Evocative theory," Tom said, ducking his head. He brushed dreadlocks over his shoulder and transferred his attention to the meal. That thousand-yard stare of Bill's made him uncomfortable. Bill didn't even know him, not really, and yet he saw him that well.

They finished the meal without any heavy conversation, though Bill supplied a few casual anecdotes that eased the way between dinner and the ordering of dessert.

"I shouldn't," Bill bemoaned, looking down at the half-size dessert menu.

"But do you want to?" Tom asked him.

"Mmm, yes," Bill drew out the words with a sinful sort of anticipation.

Tom chuckled at his own menu, closing it and setting aside. "Well, then go for it. What, you think I'm gonna say no?"

Bill's brows arched and he fidgeted with his dinner fork. "Maybe _I_ should say no," he said quietly.

Tom settled back in his chair and wondered if they were still talking about the same thing. "But you want to say yes?" he ventured.

Bill's dark eyes flashed up at him again. "Sometimes we all want things that are bad for us."

When the waiter came to clear their plates, though, Bill placed an order for the grill's take on a Baked Alaska. Tom played it safe with sorbet. He was full enough as it was.

"So you're thinking about making some improvements in your life?" Bill prompted him, setting his chin in hand as they waited. The noise level in the dining room had increased, but they were still secluded in their own island of silence. "Amazing, to think I could have made such a difference in so short a time!"

Tom tipped his head and grinned. "Yeah, well...I guess you're my fairy godmother, or whatever." He laughed, not noticing right away that Bill's answering smile was fading. "Or, uh...just...fairy, I dunno."

Bill compressed his lips. His nostrils flared and he gave Tom a haughty look.

"Or...not," Tom said lamely, moving his elbow to allow the server to place his dessert in front of him.

"That's disgusting," Bill said, snapping his napkin out with an impatient flick of his wrist. "And really asshole. Something I'd expect a straight guy to say, along with telling me I'm good enough to fuck, but not to date."

The server hesitated on the verge of their table with a large dish heaped with artistically-molded Baked Alaska. "Should I come back?" the poor man quavered.

Tom ducked his head, shielding his face with a hand as Bill sat stiffly upright, folding his arms and leaning back for the server to settle the platter in front of him.

"I didn't say that," Tom hissed, leaning forward.

"But you were thinking it," Bill shot back. His beautiful face was livid, and he tossed his napkin beside his plate.

"Look, did I...trigger something, or..." Tom began. Bill had dug up something he hadn't even said and thrown it in his face as though he were personally responsible. He had to wonder if the cheating jackass had told Bill a variation on that theme.

"Some sense, maybe," Bill said. He grabbed up his wineglass and drank it down, then set it down hard enough to make it ring. "I'm through here." He pushed back from the table, crossed his legs, and pointedly turned his face away.

Tom watched his profile for a long moment. He dropped his spoon into his own uneaten dessert. What else was there left to say? "All right," he said at last.

Bill huffed angrily but didn't say a single word, and so they waited in silence for the check.

Tom paid, and didn't escort Bill out of the restaurant so much as he trailed forlornly after. Bill's wing-tips clacked sharply over the tile in the entryway.

Devoid of conversation, they returned to Bill's cabin – or rather, Bill went back, and Tom followed him, trying to figure out exactly where everything had gone downhill so fast. A couple of things stood out in his mind, but he couldn't settle on any one thing.

Asking Bill why he'd chosen him had probably been the beginning of the end.

Bill turned and leaned against the door to his cabin, arms crossed defensively over his narrow chest.

He was so beautiful, and Tom was pretty sure he'd never seen something farther from his reach.

"So?" Bill prompted, raising one dark brow.

"So, good night, I guess," Tom replied after a moment of hesitation. He shifted his weight, twiddled his fingers at his side, tried to interpret what Bill's dark eyes were boring into him.

Bill snorted. "I guess," he repeated softly, and turned his back on Tom, letting himself into the cabin. He yanked the door shut before Tom could contemplate setting a single foot on the threshold.

"Yeah," Tom said to the door, and scrubbed a weary hand over his face. Perfect fucking end to what could have been an amazing night, and he'd blown it.

Tom went back to his cabin and passed over jerking off that night, too frustrated and pissed off at himself to even make the effort.


	6. Chapter 6

That next morning Tom slept, and slept. He roused at uneasy intervals and watched a pale strip of light moving its way along the blinds, then turned his back on it and pulled the covers over his head. Eventually he could no longer sleep in, although making the day disappear was an appealing idea the more he relived the events of the night before. He kept anticipating a knock on the door; Michael's duty prompting him to verify whether Tom had come back, or if Bill had eaten him alive.

Tom peeled the bedclothes back with a groan and sat up. If only. He rubbed a hand through his disheveled locks and peered blearily across the empty cabin. He didn't know where he was, whether they were at port or at sea again, and he didn't particularly care.

It didn't matter where he went. He was a miserable person, the asshole of which Bill had accused him, and he was going to die alone.

Tom stumbled around getting himself ready to face the day. There wasn't enough time in the world. He fixed his dreadlocks up on his head like a crest, pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, then sniffed his shirt and caught the scent of sea-spray from the day before. That made him rummage through his collection for another, because a reminder of Bill's grape-redolent kisses was really too much. He ordered coffee, and slouched around on his veranda until it came. He'd given a brief thought to eating breakfast upstairs on the Lido Deck as he had the day before with Bill, but dismissed the thought.

Miserable bastards didn't enjoy the company of other people, after all. And even if he were to venture forth, he'd only screw it up again, as he'd proved last night.

Come back with fewer issues, Andreas had counseled. Tom poured himself another cup of coffee and regarded the far horizon with a severe frown. If only that were possible.

He really was a jerk. On some level, Tom had known this, but being surrounded by an entourage made it acceptable, blunted the edge. There were people to apologize for him, people to smooth the way, people to pamper him when he was being dickish and should probably be told off instead of coddled. Alone on his vacation, it was rapidly becoming clear he was an asshole who didn't have any friends – he had assistants, staff, and colleagues.

Bill had tried to be his friend and look how well Tom had made that work out.

Tom tipped back the dregs of his coffee and regarded the empty cup, turning it between his hands. Did he have any redeeming qualities at all?

He could play the guitar, Tom mused. And fuck. He was good at fucking – though probably not half so good as he thought, because virtually all the sex he'd had in the past ten years had been with groupies, and they were practically coming at the mere thought of getting in bed with him.

"Pretty sad," Tom said to himself aloud, dumped his cup onto the saucer, and got up to see if he could make something of the day.

The itinerary told him something he'd already figured out from the rolling glassy swells tumbling past his veranda – it was a sea day. Once again, Tom found himself with nothing planned but for a massage later that afternoon. He set off to roam the ship again, and maybe if he was lucky, pass out on an upstairs deck chair under the guise of working his tan. Sleeping the day away was still an appealing option.

A door clicked open down the hall and Michael emerged, tall and bronzed and dressed today in a black polo shirt and khaki shorts that went down to his knees. Tom stifled a sigh; how did the man _do_ that? Did he have a motion tracker aimed at Tom's door?

"Good morning, sir," Michael said to him. "How did your date go last night?"

"I fucked up," Tom said, and walked past him, adding, "remember, twenty feet."

Michael's face fell.

If his goal had been to get through the day without being an asshole, Tom realized he was already off to an abysmal start.

Tom had already found most features of the ship on his first exploration, but now he went from deck to deck, hands in his pockets, poking into each corner and making a sort of game with himself to see if he could find where everything was. Not only did he have nothing better to do – he still wasn't interested in the roster of activities that the cruise had on tap – but it was probably best to avoid human contact entirely. He was no good with people, and blowing his chances with Bill made him realize he was probably no good _for_ people, either.

He was circling around the theatre in the forecastle of the ship when he passed by Tasha, the cruise director, striding purposefully in the other direction.

"Tom, hello!" Tasha called out, coming to a stop beside him and showing her teeth in a brief glint of a smile. "How are you enjoying your cruise?"

Tom grunted something noncommittal and raised his brows. "It's a nice ship," he dredged up at last.

"Anything I can do for you?" Tasha continued, smoothing right past Tom's awkward.

Tom shrugged. He was pretty sure she couldn't get Bill back for him. He'd blown that on his own. "Nah, I'm set."

"Well, I hope we'll see you at the Masquerade Ball tonight," she told him, looking positively delighted over the prospect.

"Oh, uh..." Tom fumbled a hand out of his pocket and dragged fingers over his nape. He thought he remembered seeing something about that on the program, and it was the most intriguing feature so far. "Right. What time is that, again?"

"It starts at nine and goes until one," Tasha told him. "Would you like me to see if there's someone available to attend with you?"

"No," Tom said at once, already shaking his head at the notion. Why screw up some poor girl's evening? There was only one person he wanted right now. And if he couldn't get his own dates, maybe he shouldn't have one. "No...but, thanks."

"All righty then!" Tasha beamed at him. "Make it a great day, Tom." She moved off in the opposite direction, toward the amphitheater. Her heels thudded a muffled beat over the carpet.

Tom stared after her a moment. She'd sounded so sincere. If only it were that easy.

He ambled around and paused by windows and archways every so often, watching the people go past. Everyone seemed so happy, laughing and grinning. Older people giving him a smile and a nod despite his sullen expression; so many people holding hands wherever they went. Tom recalled Bill's arm slipping familiarly into his. Why couldn't he have that?

Why wouldn't he let himself?

By the time he made his way aft and found himself standing before the lunch and dinner menus displayed in glass stands, Tom realized that his stomach was giving him menacing rumbles. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten yet, and coffee really didn't count.

"One for lunch, sir?" the maitre-d' asked him.

"Yeah," Tom replied. "A table by myself, if you can manage it." He dug around in his voluminous pockets for a tip.

"Right this way, sir."

Tom was whisked through the dining room and shown to a lone two-top nestled against the side of the ship. The maitre-d' removed the other set of silverware, gave him a nod, and left him to his own devices. Tom fiddled with the menu without reading it; he was only going to order the first items his eyes encountered when he opened it. He sat back and watched the sunlight gild the waves out farther from the ship, turning them into something molten and brilliant.

"I haven't decided," a familiar, faintly-accented voice stated beside him, "on whether you're extremely dense, or that much of an asshole. Help me out?"

Tom's head whipped around in surprise and he stared up at Bill, who had materialized beside him as though conjured by his wistful thoughts. Bill was dressed today in a pair of skinny halter tops, powder blue over white, that left his shoulders and arms bare, and long white cargo shorts. His hair was flat-ironed again and hanging in its soft layers around his face. His bare arms were crossed over his chest and he cocked his head at Tom as though expecting an answer.

"Um," was all that Tom could manage.

With an exasperated noise, Bill tipped into the chair across from Tom.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me anymore," Tom said, eyeing Bill across the table. Bill looked so annoyed, cross even.

Bill laughed. It was a short, unamused bark of sound, but not mocking, at least. "Dense," he declared with an inscrutable expression. "You're so used to other people doing everything for you, aren't you, Tom?"

Slowly Tom nodded, and Bill looked somewhat surprised.

The waiter stopped by in that moment to take Tom's order, and offered Bill a menu.

"No, I'm not eating with him," Bill responded, examining his nails and making Tom's budding hopes wilt.

"Yes, sir," the waiter murmured respectfully, taking Tom's menu and withdrawing.

"Why...are you here?" Tom ventured, devoting himself with single-minded concentration to unfolding then re-folding his napkin, making the corners sharper, more precise.

"To give you another chance," Bill said outright. "Since it seems as though you're not going to take it. Dense." He muttered that last under his breath, like an afterthought.

"Chance for what? I haven't seen you all day!" Tom protested, then facepalmed. That hadn't been exactly what he'd meant to say. The sinking sensation in his gut informed him of exactly what Bill expected. That would be another long unused word.

Bill folded his arms and stared at Tom. "What you _should_ have said last night," he prompted, raising one perfectly-groomed black brow.

Tom fiddled with his silverware, evening it out straight enough that the ends could line up against a ruler. He smoothed his napkin down and told it, "I'm very sorry."

"I'm up here," Bill said, but he sounded amused.

Tom lifted his chin and grinned somewhat tentatively at Bill, who was still looking rather severe. "You already knew I'm an asshole," he ventured.

"Doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with proving it," Bill retorted with a laugh, and hitched up partly out of his seat to reach across the table and smack Tom's shoulder.

Tom nodded, and held Bill's gaze. He bit his lip, flicked a nervous tongue against his piercing, then said directly to Bill, "I'm sorry." He'd been sorry since he said it, he realized. Since he'd watched Bill's relaxed, open expression shut down.

Bill leaned a cheek against one hand. "And do you know what you're sorry for?"

Tom winced. "Yeah, it was...yeah," he said, groping through slightly wine-fuddled recollection. He could blame the alcohol, but the mouth that had shaped the words had been his. "I said something thoughtless, it...yeah. A...um, an unflattering euphemism...you're not going to make me say it again?"

"No," Bill said. His foot nudged Tom's under the table. "I'm enjoying watching you squirm, though."

An appetizer was placed in front of Tom and the busboy offered Bill another crack at the menu, clearly uncomfortable serving one party while the other had nothing.

"No, thanks," Bill said with a wave of his hand. "I've already eaten."

Tom's stomach warmed and he nudged back at Bill's foot. Bill didn't move it away. Tom reached up to fiddle with a dreadlock that had made its way out of the band keeping the rest atop his head. "I probably deserve that," he said. "Making me squirm. But you got mad over something I didn't even say. What was that about...'good enough to-'"

"I remember what I said," Bill interrupted flatly, holding up a hand. "And...yes. What you said was insensitive, Tom, and uncalled-for, but it wasn't _that_."

Tom fidgeted with his silverware again. He picked up his knife and twirled it like a baton. He glanced around the dining room and was surprised to find it mostly empty.

Bill took a deep breath. "That was what _he_ said," he spoke up after a moment. "He said he was straight, he'd been straight all along; that I was...was good enough to fuck, but not to date. And then he said he was dating someone else."

The appetizer had only taken a few bites and it was cleared away quickly, to be replaced by a salad that Tom knew he'd poke at, but mostly end up pushing around his plate.

Tom set down the knife he'd been twirling very carefully and clenched his fists atop the table linen. "Tell me where to find him, and I'll kill him," he said very calmly.

"That's very sweet, Tom," Bill said, and sounded as though he meant it. "But it's over and done. Where were you last year?"

Tom grimaced. He caught himself toying with his loose dreadlock again and tucked it up into the greater mass of his hair. "Getting drunk and crashing cars?"

Bill's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Tom nodded.

"How many?" Bill wanted to know, leaning forward.

"Uh...three?" Tom ventured, and looked out the window at the molten-gold sea. "One was a rental. I lost my license."

"On purpose?" Bill wondered, waving a hand. "Or just...careless?"

Tom looked back to him sharply. "Drunk driving," he replied. "Too much partying, and I pretty much...didn't care what happened if I got smashed up, I guess."

"You guess?" Bill said after a moment. "You don't know?"

Tom pushed his plate away, thoroughly uninterested in greens. "Maybe I do know, and I don't like the answer," he replied.

"So change it," Bill suggested, leaning his cheek against one palm again. His eyes were dark and inviting again, as though telling Tom it was okay, they could change the answer together.

Or Tom could screw things up again.

He folded his arms over his chest. "Seriously, why...why are you even bothering with me?" he asked at last. The answers from the night before hadn't satisfied them; it had been a dodge more than anything else.

The server swapped his plate out deftly for a burger and fries, and now Tom's real meal had begun. He picked up the burger and began to wolf it down.

"You really want to know?" Bill said.

Tom looked over at him, at the small, delighted smile on Bill that already made his stomach twist in response. He swallowed. "Yeah, I think I need to."

Bill arched a brow as though to say, you asked for it. "I woke up and my pants were still on," Bill said. "A real asshole would've stripped me down before tucking me into bed; let me wonder in the morning what happened. You took care of me when I was vulnerable, Tom."

Tom didn't have a whole lot he could say in response to that. He busied himself looking at the turquoise churn of the water far below his window seat. He murdered a few fries in ketchup. He glanced up at Bill, who was smiling at his hands.

"You should give yourself a chance," Bill added. "I am."

Tom sucked in a breath to respond.

"Oh shit!" Bill yelped, and he was glancing at his watch with a frantic expression. "I told Mona and Harry I'd meet them at three for line-dancing!"

Tom widened his eyes, trying to imagine Bill line-dancing. It was an intriguing thought. Would he flail, the way he had when he splashed around in the water, or would he be graceful? Perhaps there was an activity he'd be interested in attending, after all. Then something Bill said finally sank in. "It's three?" he blurted, looking over his shoulder as though expecting to find a clock. "I've got a massage appointment..."

"You've got just enough time," Bill told him. "If you run." He grinned crookedly and quirked his fingers in an enticing wave.

Tom got up and threw his napkin aside, grateful there was no check to sign, at least. He milled beside the table for a moment anyhow, despite his lateness. "So...I'll see you later?"

"Don't make me hunt you down," Bill told him.

Tom left the dining room grinning. Perhaps Tasha had been his good luck charm; he was certainly making it a great day now.

His massage therapist, Camila, had a far less brutal job of it that afternoon. She praised Tom for the lessening of tension in his back and shoulders, and smoothed out any remaining knots. She didn't work him over the way she had during the last session.

"I hope you're having a good time on your cruise," she told him in parting, giving him a friendly smile.

"I think I am now," Tom replied. He tipped her twenty-five percent and left the spa area sure he was lit up, he felt that kind of glow.

He spent the evening milling around the shops half-heartedly, wondering whether he'd bump into Bill again. The main commissary had an entire display devoted to masks, probably for the ball that evening, and he looked them over. There was one with peacock-resplendent plumage that made his mouth tug upward as he likened it to Bill. He sifted through several racks of masks on the off chance that he'd make it to the ball, but nothing appealed. At last he moved on, searching for a stairwell or elevator that would take him to the next deck.

He walked up a passage that dead-ended to a crew exit, turned, and came face to face with Michael.

"Sorry, sir," Michael apologized, already backing up.

"Don't worry about it," Tom said. "I've been kind of a jackass."

Michael regarded him with an impassive expression and made no comment.

"Look, is there something you want to do this afternoon?" Tom asked. "Honestly I'm bumming around, I have no plans. If you have any better ideas for what we can do..." he trailed off, leaving it open.

Michael's brows made a slow crawl up his craggy forehead. "Well," he began tentatively. "I brought a book I'd really like to read. So if you were to spend some time on a deck chair..."

"Sounds good," Tom said with a nod. "Let's go topside."

Michael turned to follow, his expression still astonished.

Tom wheeled to face him again. "Hey. What would you think of a guy who found he was suddenly falling for a guy after kind of acting like a man-whore for half his life?"

Michael stood fixed in place and gave Tom a total lack of expression. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Tom scoffed. "You were in the armed forces, weren't you?"

"Yes sir, and you're lucky I'm not asking for written orders to document official permission, given the question," Michael replied with a faint smile.

"Speak freely, go on," Tom said, wary nonetheless. He'd asked for it and he'd put up with whatever Michael had to say even if he wanted to tell the man to shove it afterward. It might be a scandal in gossip rags for as long as it took the first picture of Bill to surface; then they'd be praising his good taste.

"I think you'd be an idiot to turn down a chance with someone like Bill Kaulitz," Michael blurted, and looked promptly terrified.

"Oh," Tom said. A curious, weightless sort of sensation came over him, reminding him of the day before when he'd hung suspended in the blue. Maybe it was peacefulness. Maybe it was letting go. "Is that his last name?"

Michael stood there and managed to give Tom the impression of rolling his eyes without actually doing so.

After a quick detour to their cabins for Michael to fetch his book and Tom to grab his sunblock and iPod, they spent the afternoon on deck. Tom napped a bit, people-watched, and had a vastly different opinion that afternoon of all the couples going round hand in hand.

He thought of Tasha, his own age or near enough to that precipice of doom, but upbeat like Bill, cheerful even. Happy with her job, probably happy with her life. He wondered what it took - being happy with one's life.

He wondered what he'd need to do in order to earn it, being someone that Bill liked. He thought he was ready to try, not simply make a half-assed effort at it and let Bill do all the work.

On the heels of that hopeful realization he presented himself at Bill's door near the dinner hour, ready to prostrate himself for another chance. Knocking and waiting, knocking some more, pacing up and down the hall proved fruitless, so at last Tom moved on.

Dinner was semi-casual and Tom threw on a baggy turtleneck and big black jeans, belting them tightly near his hips. He fussed with his dreadlocks before tying them up off his neck, made an appointment at the hair salon to have them tended, and sought out the upper dining room area, taking his assigned seat for the first time. He was at a large table with three older couples, all of them engaged in swapping stories and anecdotes by the time he arrived.

There was no Bill in sight. Tom did his best to keep engaged in conversation with his dinner companions, but loneliness crept back. He began to second-guess himself, and whether he'd misunderstood Bill's parting words from earlier in the afternoon.

After pondering his options between drinking in the casino, drinking out on the Lido Deck, or drinking while watching happy masked couples twirl across a dance floor, Tom gave up on everything and returned to his room. Michael lurked behind him and Tom lingered in his doorway, about to tell the man to take the night off, again.

A glittering silver and black whirlwind gusted up the hallway as Bill barreled toward his door, heels thudding over carpet. "Tom," Bill called out peremptorily. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Didn't I tell you not to make me hunt you down?"

"You were?" Tom said dumbly. "I mean, I looked for you. Before dinner."

Bill came to a stop beside him, giving Tom a brilliant smile. "Then we must have missed each other," he said. "I grabbed a quick bite in the lower dining room, hoping to find you..."

"I was on the upper," Tom said, not quite daring to finish, _because I thought you might be._

"Then it's a comedy of errors," Bill told him, sizing him up then smiling again. "You'll do, as-is. Come on, let's go!"

"Go where?" Tom wanted to know, digging his heel in as Bill reached for his wrist. Tonight Bill was resplendent in a form-fitting metallic silver shirt and black pants that looked like brushed velvet. His red and blond streaked layers had been fluffed a bit and sprayed around his face like a dark semi-halo.

Tom was pretty sure he'd never seen someone look so much like instant sex before. He wanted to stroke his hands over that shirt, down to those brushed-velvet shrouded hips and pull their bodies into alignment. He wanted...

"The Masquerade Ball, of course!" Bill said impatiently. He raised a brow at Tom as though daring him to defy him.

"I'm not dodging, but...I don't have a mask to, well, you know," Tom said, making a lame gesture. Now he wished he'd at least gotten a plain black domino.

Now Bill gave him a mischievous smile. "Did you think I wouldn't have that covered?" He brought up one hand, hidden until then partially behind his thigh. From one finger dangled a pair of masks. Bill plucked one free and handed it over.

It was a half-mask, red, designed to cover forehead and cheeks. It had an elongated red nose and it was tipped with a pair of stubby horns.

"Cute," Tom said flatly, trying to figure how to slip it over his dreads. "I suppose you're an angel."

Bill grabbed his wrist and began to haul him up the hallway. "No way; angels don't get laid," he claimed, presenting an identical mask for Tom's inspection. It was also a devil mask, but silver instead, to match his glinting shirt.

"Yeah?" Tom croaked, mouth abruptly dry.

Bill gave him a demure glance over one shoulder as he reeled Tom up the hall. "Yes, but don't get too ahead of yourself," he warned. "I'm expecting a full night of dancing and perhaps a few drinks out of you."

"Oh, I don't dance," Tom demurred, trailing after him nonetheless. They drew to a stop beside the elevators.

Bill heaved a sigh and planted himself beside Tom. He put a hand to Tom's neck, fingernails teasing at his nape in slow, soothing circles. "Do you want to get into my pants?" he asked outright.

Tom gaped at him. It had to be a trap.

"It's okay," Bill insisted. "You can answer me honestly, Tomi."

With only that much, Tom's defenses crumbled. "Yes," he admitted hoarsely, and let himself do what he'd been wanting to. He brought his hands up to Bill's tiny hips, stroking one thumb over the velvet. It was softer than it looked. "Yes, God, yes I do." What had happened to his staunch determination that nothing would compromise his sexuality?

Fuck that; the only thing Tom wanted to compromise right now was Bill.

Bill eased closer to him, his smoky shadow-rimmed eyes hooded, challenging; he placed a knee between Tom's thighs.

Tom was suddenly, humiliatingly hard. He was pretty sure he hadn't dealt with a raging boner like this since his teenage years. On the one hand it was gratifying; on the other, terribly inconvenient. He hoped Bill wouldn't make too much fun of him if he crowded closer and got poked.

Bill's hand closed on Tom's nape, cupping the back of his neck and urging him closer. Tom was only too happy to oblige. His eyes began to droop closed but he kept them open as long as he could to watch, fascinated, as Bill's flawless face drew within range. His mouth was glossed over a berry-red color and Tom wanted to taste it.

As their parted lips brushed, Bill whispered into him, "Then we're going to dance." He straightened, drawing his tempting mouth out of reach and pulling a whine out of Tom in response. His brown eyes were amused, but determined. "We're going to dance, Tomi, and show those boomers how to party. You can get into a groove, right?"

"I'll show you a groove," Tom muttered, reaching for Bill, who eluded him in a whirl of scent that hit Tom like a hammer – vanilla and almonds, skin musk and honey.

Bill laughed at him and boarded the elevator. "Move your body to the groove," he said, grabbing a side railing and shaking his booty.

"Oh, God," Tom groaned. He joined Bill on the elevator and lifted his mask up, beginning the laborious process of slipping the elastic over his dreads in a way that would secure the mask and not tug the hell out of his hair.

"Wait," Bill said, and Tom looked up.

He found himself pressed flush against the opposite railing, Bill's mouth on his. Bill tasted like liquor and raspberries, a heady combination that had Tom tonguing at him for more, and they stroked open one another's mouths while Bill rubbed up against his front. Tom held Bill against his body, running a hand down his back over that silver shirt. It had a rough texture but the prospect of sleek skin below it excited him.

Bill made a noise against his mouth that made Tom want to lick him. So he did, running his tongue over the slickness of Bill's saliva-wet lips, plunging inside to dabble teasingly against Bill's tongue. He licked around the head of Bill's tongue stud and enjoyed the way Bill shivered against him. He licked against his teeth, the roof of his mouth, and cupped at Bill's ass with both hands as Bill groaned and kissed him back. Bill gave him a punishing nip, then licked and thrust their tongues together and past one another.

The ding of the elevator barely registered. Tom leaned forward to pursue the kiss when Bill began to retreat, disentangling himself. He wanted more of that mouth; he was, in fact, sure he couldn't get enough. Ever.

"Come on," Bill told him, giving the bulge at the front of Tom's jeans a familiar pat. "Dance first; pants later." He gave Tom a vaguely naughty smile and pulled a tube of gloss from thin air, reapplying as he sashayed from the elevator.

"Oh, God," Tom repeated, and followed that irresistible lure.

Bill raised a finger to his freshly glossed lips, giving Tom a scandalized look over his shoulder. "Not tonight," he proclaimed, and lifted up his silver devil mask to fix it into place.

The throb of a foundation-shaking beat shook the very deck beneath their feet and made it shiver as Tom let himself be led up the hallway by the hand Bill had anchored around his. With some apprehension, Tom had managed to get his red devil mask fixed in place with the elastic tucked behind his ears. "Isn't it past their bedtime?" Tom said apprehensively, as the undercurrent of music became an overt, ear-shattering wave of sound in the hallway and Bill began to shimmy back and forth, tossing a teasing grin over his shoulder at Tom. What Tom really meant was, _he'd_ rather be in bed, and didn't fancy mingling with a herd of the elderly showing off their grandpa moves.

"You're a party pooper!" Bill called cheerfully above the thumping bass. "And you don't know many older people, do you, Tom? Some of them could put you and I to shame."

It wasn't a typical pop song blaring through the speakers; it had a regular cadence and catchy rhythm, but it sounded more like actual nightclub music, something from an older era than Tom typically dared to listen. A spill of colored lights streaked out of the doorway up the hall and Tom experienced another kind of anxiety. Bill expected him to dance, actually dance. His eyes fell on that black-clad ass wiggling back and forth and he bit back a groan. This was some kind of serious torture.

Find a groove, Bill had told him. So long as he could put an arm around Bill and grind up against him, Tom was sure he could manage that much. He had to.

"Drinks," Bill said against his ear as they reached the threshold and stood for a moment hand in hand. "Tomi, buy me a drink."

They paused on the threshold together as though posing for a red carpet entrance, though hands-down Bill was hotter than any creature he'd ever taken to an after party. The swirl of multi-colored spot lights and packed mass of bodies reminded Tom of one of those, but for the demographic of the throng - though that wasn't so easy to determine, because the ballroom was dim wherever it was unlit by a roving spot. It wasn't exactly a ballroom, either - it was a two-tiered nightclub. People were dancing on the crowded dance floor - really, truly dancing, some kind of two-step move Tom didn't recognize - and lined against the bar and flocking to the balcony above, which had a view of the floor below. There were people in costume, people in formal wear, people in tourist Hawai'ian shirts and flip flops. And every last man and woman was wearing a mask, full or half, so Tom instantly felt better about Bill cajoling him into it.

"I can handle drinks," Tom asserted. He headed for the bar and Bill released him at last, loosing him on the heaving tide of people that ebbed and surged around the bar. He expected it to take forever, but there were three bartenders slamming out drinks and he ordered two rum and cokes, hoping Bill didn't hate the drink, and began to search through the crowd for a silver shirt.

A lithe arm wormed around Tom's middle.

"Miss me?" a husky voice inquired.

"Was about to," Tom said with a laugh. He handed over a rum and coke and held his up when Bill did, as though to toast.

"To second chances," Bill offered, his dark eyes watchful.

"Yeah," Tom said, chin dipping. "To not fucking them up."

They clinked and Bill drained his glass half empty in one long swallow, and came up gasping. "Ohh that's the good stuff," he said happily. "And fucking is perfectly all right. But, later." He made eyes at Tom, squeezed past him, and began making his way for the dance floor.

"Bill? ...Shit." Tom chugged the rest of his drink, found a cocktail table to set his empty glass down, and plunged after Bill. They were both tall and Bill's silver mask and black hair were unmistakable, so Tom didn't think he could lose him again.

The music blended from one song to another, something with a blare of brassy horns and a jaunty beat. A roar of acclaim went up from the assembled dancers and onlookers. Bill swung around, caught sight of Tom approaching, and waved delightedly, his face splitting in an amazing grin.

Tom could only grin back at him and follow. Bill was already swaying to the beat. Around him, couples were dancing all out, fancy flourishes and dips and twirls. Tom got close enough to get a hand to Bill's neck and fitted his right hand to Bill's left; that was good enough for him.

There was swaying and grinding involved, and that alone brought a renewed interest in dancing to Tom's world view. So long as Bill's pert ass was rubbing back against his crotch, Tom discovered his interest was acquired. He draped an arm over Bill's chest and breathed hotly into his ear. They danced for at least two songs' worth; Tom wasn't exactly tracking through the blaze of club lights and the music that shifted smoothly from one song to the next.

"More drinks?" he offered to Bill when the bump and grind became too much, and he had to put some space between their bodies or he was going to spread Bill right on the dance floor in front of all the nice older people.

"Um." Bill pulled away and twisted around to face him. His mouth was open, though it was impossible in club conditions to tell whether he was flushed and panting. "Yes, let's."

This time Tom kept Bill tucked against his side as he made his way through the close-packed bodies, as though to jealously guard him against all comers. Bill was singing, his voice close to Tom's ear as he belted out the lyrics of the song, and he was bouncing on his toes every other moment or so. When Tom leaned against the bar to order drinks, Bill leaned against _him_ and pressed against his thigh.

Tom didn't even bother to stifle the groan as he passed Bill's drink over this time. "You're going to drive me crazy," he accused, dropping his hand low to Bill's back and seeking out the little dip at the end of Bill's tailbone with his index finger.

"Oh," Bill moaned, and pressed against him harder. "Oh, mm...only 'going to?' Obviously I have to try harder." He sipped at his drink and cast a look around the crowded first floor, before flashing over to Tom with challenging, sultry eyes.

"If you try any harder, I'm going to have you over a barstool," Tom threatened. He tipped back the last of his drink and shook his head at the effects of his own liquid courage.

The music changed again, segueing into a slow old-fashioned ballad that even Tom recognized.

"Come on," Bill said, grasping his hand.

"Slow dancing?" Tom protested.

Bill's dark eyes challenged him to say no.

"I'm grooving," Tom gave in with a faint sigh that was lost to the din.

When they returned to the floor and claimed their own patch, this time Bill wound his arms around Tom and rested his head on Tom's shoulder. Tentatively Tom settled his hands on Bill's waist in response and they swayed together while he breathed in the scent of Bill and sweat and that subtle, honey-musk scent. Their bodies pressed together. His evening so far had been the most agonizing, extended foreplay of his life.

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps," Bill sang near Tom's jaw as the song drew to a close. He pulled back, looking into Tom's eyes. His expression was unreadable, maybe a little sad.

Prompted by that look or maybe an answering swell of emotion, Tom leaned into Bill and kissed him. They bumped elongated mask-noses at first, then Tom found the right angle and covered Bill's mouth with his.

Bill responded at once, parting his lips to Tom's seeking tongue with a moan unheard but it shivered through Tom's mouth. He kissed back, and held on tightly as Tom ran his hands up and down Bill's silvery shirt then under, rubbing over the skin of his lower back.

The music gave way to the familiar opening strains of YMCA and Bill pulled away, shaking under Tom's hands.

Concerned, Tom ducked to peer into Bill's face, but he was laughing.

"This is too much even for me!" Bill shouted, slipping a hand into Tom's.

Tom bit his lip, then poked his tongue into the upper curve of his lip ring. "You wanna go?" he suggested.

Bill put his head to the side as though considering. Tom's face fell. "Yes, Tom, yes," Bill yelled, then hip-checked him hard enough to make him stumble. "So where do you want to go?"

Tom yanked his mask off as they stumbled out of the ball and gave Bill an incredulous lift of his brows.

"I'm kidding," Bill chuckled, and wound an arm around Tom's waist with a low, contented noise. "Take me to your room, Tomi, and we'll continue our...dance." He smirked over at Tom.

"You're lucky those elevators are glass," Tom said, leaning in to nuzzle at Bill's sweaty neck. "Otherwise..." He licked a stripe up Bill's skin, tasting him, kissing him there and fastening his teeth lightly.

Bill squeaked and lifted an arm to clutch at Tom's shoulder, but not to push him away. "Yes," he breathed against Tom's ear, stumbling as they hurried through the hall on their way to the elevators. "Yes, yes, anywhere, Tomi. Just..." His hand gripped at the back of Tom's belt, making Tom trip and detach his mouth from Bill's delicious skin, swearing and looking around dazed to get his bearings. He stabbed at the elevator with a frenzied sweep of his hand.

"I'll take care of you," Tom asserted, and hauled Bill close to kiss him senseless. "So good."


	7. Chapter 7

The brassy overhead light of the elevator glinted dully off Bill's streaked hair and the only sound in the car was the soft, wet sound of their lips meeting and parting and slanting urgently together again as Tom held Bill trapped against a side rail and kissed him. Bill's hands roamed everywhere as they kissed, from Tom's shoulders and down his chest, rubbing his nipples into firm points in passing, trailing down his stomach and pushing up his shirt. They jolted together at the touch of Bill's fine fingers on his belly.

"Want you so bad," Tom admitted out loud at last, pushing his mouth against Bill's in a sloppy kiss. He stroked his thumbs over Bill's hips through the fabric of his pants and wanted to get closer. He wanted to get inside Bill; he wanted everything.

Bill gasped and tilted his head, placing quick, biting kisses along Tom's jaw. "Tomi," he pleaded, his husky voice making Tom's cock twitch in overriding lust. Bill must have felt it because he pressed up against him with another gasp, bringing their groins into contact for the first time.

Tom sought Bill's mouth blindly and licked right into his mouth, latching onto his bottom lip before thrusting his tongue inside.

The ding of the elevator barely registered but for the fact that Bill was pushing against him, breaking their kiss. "Tomi, Tomi; let's go..."

"Oh," Tom mumbled against Bill's soft cheek, and swung his head up.

They stood transfixed as an older couple, unmasked but wearing evening formal clothes, stood outside waiting to board.

"Uhh, not our floor yet?" Tom ventured, curving his hands over Bill's waist and holding him possessively close.

"It's all right, we'll take the next car," the woman said, flapping a glittering black shawl at them. She was doing a poor job of suppressing a broad grin.

As the doors slid closed, the older man flashed Tom a discreet thumb's up.

Tom grinned and turned into Bill again, digging his fingers in circles over Bill's waist, pushing up his shirt to make skin contact.

"Mm, yes," Bill said, all encouragement as he arched against Tom to bring their bodies into alignment again.

Tom pressed Bill against the side rail hard enough to make him squeak. He was so hot he could barely think; all he wanted was to roll his hips against Bill, rub up against him and to have Bill straining against him, naked, giving him more of those steamy kisses. He hooked an arm around Bill's waist and pushed his hand up Bill's shirt as Bill writhed against him.

"Yes, yes," Bill urged, his tongue flicking Tom's lip ring, then he trailed along Tom's jaw again and went for his pulse with a hint of teeth.

Tom hissed and ground their bodies together, glancing to the side and wondering how long it would take maintenance staff to come roust them from a stalled elevator. He caught a glimpse of another floor going past and remembered that the elevator was glass-walled. "Bill," he said, lament and praise rolled into one. "What are you doing to me?" He stroked his hands over Bill's back and tipped his head up as Bill tongued his pulse. His cock was so hard he thought he'd burst before they got anywhere.

"There was another reason I like you," Bill admitted against his neck, and nipped at a tendon before nuzzling a spot under his jaw.

Tom groaned something vaguely inquiring and took double handfuls of Bill's ass, squeezing.

"Animal magnetism," Bill said, latching onto his earlobe and tonguing it.

Tom jerked, and crowded Bill up against the side of the elevator to rub between his legs. "God, what are you doing to me?" he moaned again.

"I knew the moment I saw you that I wanted to fuck you," Bill continued, and traced a tongue into the sworl around the edge of Tom's ear.

"Unnh," Tom responded, squeezing Bill's ass again, wondering if it would be too much if he tried to get his hand into his pants here and now. He fingered the waistband of the velvety fabric. Then he pulled his head up. "Wait, you want to fuck me? But I'm doing the fucking, right?"

"Tom!" Bill exclaimed, giving his pectoral a short, sharp smack. "Don't be a dick – you want to get laid, right?"

Tom widened his eyes. "So long as I'm..."

"...on top?" Bill filled in the blank. A mysterious look crossed his face. "We'll see. Don't worry, Tom; this is going right where you want it." He reached between them and gripped the ridge of Tom's cock through his jeans.

"Okay," Tom said weakly, and lowered his head to Bill's neck.

The elevator car stopped at their floor at last. Tom laid another kiss on Bill's parted, inviting mouth, unable to get enough. Bill whimpered against Tom's lips as he began to pull away.

"No, more," he pleaded, one hand gripping Tom's nape and the other set low, dangerously low, at the place where Tom's belt rode below his boxers.

"You can have more," Tom promised recklessly. "Let's get to a cabin, okay? Yours or mine?" He could barely think. He wanted to peel Bill's pants down, get his shirt off, and rut their naked bodies together.

"Mm, yours," Bill mumbled, dipping into Tom's pants to grip the boxer-covered bulge of Tom's erection.

"I swear to God, Bill," Tom said, his voice emerging in an unfamiliar rasp as pure need coursed through him, sharp and sizzling. "There's a couch _right over there_ , and if you keep touching me like that..."

Bill giggled, pressed a flicker of open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Tom's mouth, and broke away from him, avoiding Tom's desperate grab with a huskier laugh.

"Come on, lover," he taunted, crooking a finger at Tom. He wedged his tongue in the corner of his mouth, poking out his tongue stud.

Swearing, Tom followed. He held his shirt out in front of him with one hand to at least try to disguise his raging arousal.

Bill kept just out of reach as they chased each other through the hallways until Tom caught him at last, pinning him up against the wall beside his stateroom door. They shared another hungry kiss and Bill's mouth was hard on his, demanding, as he wrapped his arms around Tom's lower back and grabbed his ass, hauling their bodies together.

"Fuck," Tom said against Bill's mouth, thrusting against him the way he wanted to.

Bill moaned and humped his hips up. "Inside," he responded, breathless. "Inside, Tom..."

"I'll get inside," Tom promised, reaching around Bill to grip at his ass. The cheeks spread for him a little beneath the fabric and he felt up the crease of Bill's ass, fingers digging in and pressing against the tantalizing warmth there, the bump at the heated center of him.

"Oh," Bill moaned, arching against him like a cat. "No, fucking open the door, Tom, and get me inside."

Tom twitched, pressing his dick more firmly against Bill's hip as though to keep him against the wall with that alone, but he fumbled through his pockets with hasty hands. How was it possible to lose a goddamned key-card when he didn't have that many pockets to begin with? At last he fished it out as Bill murmured breathless nothings into his neck as he licked and sucked his way from jaw hinge to shoulder, pushing Tom's turtleneck down far enough to give him skin access.

The door clicked open and they tumbled through it, tangled together and panting. Tom peeled his shirt up over his head and flung it aside, pleased to turn back and find Bill naked from the waist up, as well. It wasn't enough; he needed more.

"I want these off," Bill told him, dark eyes flashing up at Tom as he rested a manicured hand on Tom's belt.

"Be my guest," Tom responded, threading his tongue through his lip-ring and fretting it back and forth.

Bill's eyes flashed again then he was unbuckling Tom's belt and jeans, pawing them down with impatient hands as he sank to his knees on the floor.

"Fuck, you don't waste any time," Tom groaned, riveted on the incredibly erotic sight of Bill with his head beside Tom's groin, parting his lips and looking up the length of Tom's body to give him a sensual, heavy-lidded gaze.

"Well, I've been teasing you all night," Bill said, stroking his palm over Tom's hot, boxer-clad bulge. "It's only fair, right?" He leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against it.

"Fuck...Bill, want you to..." Tom began, and trailed off with a choked cry as Bill licked up the underside of his dick through the fabric, dragging his tongue stud along the length. "Fuuuuck."

Bill opened his mouth over the tip of Tom's dick against the stretched-taut fabric sheathing it. He lapped his tongue against it, spreading a stain of wetness.

"Bill..." Tom moaned, his voice strained. He cupped the back of Bill's head to his groin.

Bill nodded, smoothing his cheek against Tom's barely-covered dick, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down in one rough, swift motion. Tom's cock sprang out and Bill grasped it, his thumb digging in at the frenulum, and driving Tom nuts.

"Fuck, I'm gonna..." Tom gasped, as Bill sat back on his heels and stared.

"You're uncut," Bill said in a hoarse voice.

"Shit, is that a problem?" Tom wanted to know, uneasily remembering the time a girl had tugged his boxers down, gotten a good look, and flipped the fuck out.

Bill laughed unexpectedly and leaned back, shimmying his pants down his thighs. "What do you think?" He stripped his underwear down lean hips and exposed himself, hard and erect and so wet at the tip that he glistened. The head was straining to get free of foreskin and he stroked it down with one hand, tipping his head to look up at Tom with those dark, inviting eyes.

It was another moment of truth. Tom looked down at Bill sprawled back on his haunches, down at the unmistakable maleness of him, and he was still so turned on he couldn't think, only react. And now he had his answer to his cheeky question of the day before – Bill had indeed opted for the full body wax. At least, every place Tom could see was hairless. He caught his breath, his eyes roaming over pale, hairless belly and further down. Bill's hard, red cock jutted out from pale, smooth skin.

"Oh," Bill said, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He cocked his head to the side as though suddenly shy. "I...I like the way bare skin feels, so..."

"I like it," Tom replied hoarsely, reaching to cup the side of Bill's face. "It's sexy." And it was. If Tom could have gotten harder, he was pretty sure he would be, right then.

"Good," Bill told him with a curling, mischievous grin, licking his lips until the glint of tongue stud showed. "Because it's not coming back for a while. What do you want, Tom?"

"I want..." Tom began, threading a hand into the hair beside Bill's face, and stopped. He wanted so much. He wanted to fuck Bill's mouth, and see his cock gliding in and out between those plush lips that he'd kissed free of gloss. He wanted to thrust up against Bill's sweet, lithe body and roll them together in the sheets until they forgot everything but each other. He wanted to seat his dick in the tight quaking heat that he knew Bill had to offer.

"I know," Bill said breathily, rubbing his cheek against the whole length of Tom's cock, petting it with an insistent hand, rings providing a friction both odd and good. "You smell so good here, too."

Without another word, Bill dragged his lips over the tip of Tom's cock and took him in, sliding Tom half down over slick tongue and carefully-sheathed lips. The stud dragged against the underside of Tom's cock with unrelenting pressure as Bill went down on him, making low happy noises that traveled through the thickness of Tom's dick and made him harder. He tried to thrust but Bill had a hand flat against his pelvis, and the other twisted steadily at the base. Bill sucked and slurped him back and forth and Tom made a series of undignified, increasingly desperate noise.

"Ahh...Bill..." Tom struggled with the ability to form words. Bill was sucking him down so good. He caressed over Bill's brow and the line of his cheekbone. "I need...Bill, I need to get in you so badly."

Bill's lips retreated up the spit-glistening length of Tom's dick. He pulled off, the seal of his mouth releasing a quiet pop that tempted Tom to push the head of his cock right back in. He grinned slyly up at Tom. "You were in me," he pointed out, and laved the tip of his tongue over Tom's cock.

"Mmf," Tom complained, easing his hips forward. He didn't have enough friction as Bill gave him quick, teasing licks, swiping the stud over the slit and closing his lips over it in a quick, sucking kiss. "Get _up_ here." He stroked through Bill's hair.

"All right," Bill said with deceptive docility. He grabbed Tom by the thighs and hauled himself upward, plastering their bodies together the taller he got. He kicked off his pants as he went.

Tom got an arm around him and pulled Bill flush against him. They both loosed low cries as their cocks collided and slid against one another and Bill fastened his mouth onto Tom's. They kissed again until Bill wrenched his mouth away, panting, and Tom was grabbing at Bill's ass so hard he was surprised Bill wasn't trying to pull away. Instead Bill was rubbing himself closer with desperate little noises, wrapping a leg around Tom's as though they could become one with only this much.

"Let's..." Tom began, when they pried their mouths apart at last. Bill had eaten into his mouth as though trying to draw sustenance from him, locked and feeding, more than a hint of teeth as their tongues strove together.

"Let's have some sex?" Bill finished for him, rubbing his mouth against Tom's lip-ring. His hips pushed against Tom and his dick slid wetly against Tom's stomach.

"Yes," Tom said weakly, and not because he was turned off. God, he was going to climb Bill like a pole if this went on any longer.

"Lube, we need lube," Bill said, looking around as though he expected to find some on a side table. "Oh God. Tom?"

Tom palmed Bill's ass, more than a little distracted by the sheer decadent feel of their cocks pressing and sliding together. "Huh?" he prompted, when Bill's hand smacked against his shoulder.

"Lube," Bill repeated, his dark eyes wide and frantic.

"Oh," Tom grunted, and looked around the same way, hoping it would simply materialize. "Uh, no, I don't..." He was abruptly crestfallen, and his first thought beyond 'not gonna get in Bill' was how he'd satisfy him, whether he could give him a hand job or if he'd have the courage to open his lips around another man's dick.

"Wait here," Bill instructed, patting Tom's chest. "You have to let go. Tom..." He struggled in Tom's grasp.

"But not for long?" Tom asked hopefully. He palmed Bill's ass again, sliding his fingers into the cleft.

Bill shuddered in his arms. "Not for long," he promised, and disentangled himself as Tom loosened his grip at last, keeping his fingers trailing over Bill's skin as long as he could. "Stay right here. And take your dreads down."

Tom made a face. It was what Bill wanted, though, and so he did. His dreads spilled over his shoulders and he scratched at his scalp for a second, making a small satisfied noise at the release of pressure from pulled-up hair. He watched Bill's little ass sway back and forth as Bill padded over to the bathroom, bare except for his stockinged feet, which Tom found hot and amazingly adorable at the same time. It might have been disturbing if it wasn't Bill, turning back to him with flashing triumph in his eyes, a small pump-dispenser bottle of lotion snagged in one hand.

"You do have a condom, at least?" Bill demanded as he returned to his side, wrapping one hand around Tom's cock and squeezing.

Tom hissed and pushed into Bill's grip, reaching out to snare an arm around Bill's waist. "Yeah, I..." He sought Bill's mouth again blindly, kissing over his cheek and sinking his tongue between Bill's lips for another taste.

Bill pulled away, though not until after giving Tom's thigh a good humping. "Find a condom," he said, and offered up another kiss. One hand finger-combed briefly through Tom's dreads.

It was an effort to peel himself from Bill's side. Tom grabbed at Bill's ass one more time, making him squeak, then stepped away toward the gutted shell of his luggage. He kept condoms in an inside zippered compartment, always had condoms with him wherever he went. He was a bit of a control freak, and fastidious about hygiene, so he'd never caught a disease. He reached down, one foot then the other, to take his socks off and nearly tripped along the way.

He returned with a zigzaggy strip of condoms and tossed them to the bed.

"Jesus Tom, how many times do you think we're going to come in one night?" Bill said with a laugh. He was kneeling on the foot of the bed, one hand behind him, and he was rocking slowly back and forth. His eyes were half-lidded as he regarded Tom, that look full of fire and promise.

Tom groaned and settled his hands to Bill's hips as he realized the other man was fingering himself. "What do I..." he began, and slanted a kiss down on Bill's open mouth.

Bill whined as Tom closed a hand on Bill's cock, pumping it the way he'd do to himself, jerking over him with sure, firm strokes. Teeth nipped Tom's lip and Bill pushed against him, hard, then drew back shaking his head.

"Get one of those on," Bill told him, nodding to the strip of condoms beside them. He lifted up on his knees, producing a breathy moan. "I'm ready, oh...oh, I think I'm ready for you." He began to move further up the bed, splaying himself onto his side and stroking a lotion-covered hand over his cock.

Tom prised a condom out of its wrapper and dropped it, staring down at Bill. It took him two tries to pick it up and he realized he was gaping, all but drooling. He grabbed his impatient cock with a wince then rolled the condom down over himself. "You _think_ you're ready?" He picked up the lotion and toggled several squirts onto his hand, spreading it over the condom until it was coated with lotion, then he tossed the bottle aside.

Bill regarded him coyly over one bare shoulder. "You're big, Tomi," he said frankly. "And it's been a while for me." Then he twisted onto his side in a limber move, bracing himself on hands and knees and pushing his bottom out, putting himself on display for Tom.

"Holy shit," Tom whimpered, squeezing the base of his cock. "Not gonna come, not gonna come." He climbed onto the bed and reached for Bill's ass, running his hands over the cheeks and cupping them, then dipping a finger into his cleft and finding him open, wet; or at least, well-slicked.

Bill's shoulder dipped as he went down on one elbow and looked over at Tom. "No coming unless you're in me," he agreed. His voice was dragged-out and desperate. "Tomi..."

Tom nodded dazedly and seized the points of Bill's enticing little hips, using them for leverage to haul Bill close. Bill cried out, the sound wanton, inviting, as Tom's dick slapped against one cheek and nestled in his cleft.

"Yes, yes," Bill was chanting, and Tom grabbed himself in one hand to guide his eager dick to that wet, red little hole. "Ahh, Tom!"

Tom cried out as the head of his dick sank into yielding heat. He pushed in and it was amazing, instant tightness spasming closed around him.

"Tom...Tom, stop, _stop_ ," Bill told him, sounding panicked.

Stilling in alarm, Tom squeezed his hands on Bill's hips in silent inquiry. He couldn't manage speech; Bill's ass clamped tight around his cock had drained the smarts right out of him.

"Okay, no, wait," Bill said, breathing hard. "Pull out."

Shattered, Tom reached down to grip himself in one hand and leaned back on his heels, pulling out of Bill. There was a dull throb behind his balls and he couldn't figure out why.

"Now sit there," Bill directed, pointing toward the headboard.

Tom crawled toward the headboard dutifully, yelping as Bill smacked him on the ass as though to hurry him along. "You..." He flipped around and seated himself, wincing as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, giving it a warning squeeze. Bill was moving toward him on all fours, a dark, intent expression on his face, and the play of light and shadow along his body highlighted angles and curves; rendered him into something beyond breathtaking.

"We're doing this my way," Bill informed him, and straddled Tom's thighs. He took his own bottom lip between his teeth and set a hand to Tom's shoulder, nails digging in softly as he grasped.

Tom put a hand to Bill's side, stroking up and down. The skin was so lissome beneath his fingertips and Bill arched his back as he settled into Tom's lap. "You feel so good," Tom said, biting his own lip.

"Gonna feel better," Bill whispered, bumping his ass back against Tom's cock, making him hiss.

"Did I hurt you?" Tom demanded, running a hand over Bill's chest and stomach, looking into the shadowed wells of his eyes.

Bill shivered and leaned forward to kiss him sweetly on the mouth, so sweetly that Tom made a noise of protest when he withdrew. "Not exactly hurt, just...really uncomfortable." He shrugged and the movement bumped Bill's ass against Tom's cock and they both shuddered. Bill bit down on his lip and looked through his lashes at Tom. "I told you, it's been a while."

Tom could only nod stupidly because Bill was lifting himself up, groping for Tom's cock behind him and setting the tip against that delicate part of him. Bill brushed their mouths together then sat back, sinking Tom's cock into him with slow precision as Tom pursued the kiss, keeping their mouths connected.

"Ahh," Bill's breath fluttered against Tom's lips. He sank further down, inch by agonizing inch, and kissed Tom's mouth, all insistent tongue and wet lips.

Regaining a measure of sense, Tom stroked his hand down Bill's belly and gripped Bill's cock, pumping until the madly thrusting tongue against his eased off into a gentler kiss.

The feel of Bill parting around him, of Tom's cock sliding into him, was indescribable; hotter than anything, and perfect. Bill's tight ring contracted around him before he'd gotten very far and Tom cried out, his legs shaking. It was a good thing he'd given over control to Bill or he had a feeling he'd have collapsed before he even got fully inside.

"Bill," Tom said against Bill's mouth, and Bill responded with a low animal moan. Tom kissed him harder, working Bill's cock in one fist as Bill took him all the way inside. He sat there for a moment, thighs taut around the outside of Tom's, and trembled. Tom petted over Bill's sweating back, his narrow chest; thumbed at his nipples and tugged on the ring with gentle fingers as they kissed and Bill relaxed atop him.

"Oh," Bill said, sounding dazed. He shifted in Tom's lap. "Oh, oh."

"I hope that's a good 'oh,'" Tom said, nervous. He'd already had that heavenly clench around his dick taken away once; he didn't want to stop this time until they both came. Hard. Then maybe did it again. To be sure he was doing it right.

"So good," Bill told him, rocking forward and then back.

Tom shouted, grabbing at Bill's hips. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from driving up into that tight heat; he wanted to rut and rut and hold Bill down and rut some more. He was absolutely, positively certain he was going to come harder than he'd ever done in his life.

He opened his eyes to see Bill lick his lip, lift himself up, and sink down again. "Ahh," the long sigh left Bill, utter satisfaction. Tom groaned as Bill worked his dick in and out of that blissful tight ass of his. He kept his hands on Bill's hips as though to steady him, though Bill seemed to be doing all right on his own as he clenched his thighs and his ass and lifted up, then came down again, up and down, again and again.

"You're the best," Tom moaned, trying to hold himself still but he was pushing up now as Bill came down. "Bill, you're so good."

Bill positively glowed at that, tossing his head and lifting himself faster, sinking down harder. Tom couldn't stop touching him, and ran his hands over Bill's hips as Bill seated himself fully, reached up to play with his nipples again, and wrapped his fingers around Bill's cock. Bill whimpered at that and Tom began to stroke him firmly again, jacking the foreskin down and thumbing at the head the way he liked it. Bill gave him a stuttered cry at that and bobbed faster, bouncing on Tom's dick.

He was moving too fast to kiss now and it was good, so fucking good - Tom knew he could come from this, with Bill taking his cock so good. He was so tight, hotter than anything Tom had ever had on his dick, and his sexy moans were ratcheting Tom's excitement to fever pitch. And yet he wanted more.

"Feels good?" he rasped, pushing Bill back and curving a hand over Bill's spine to force him to bend further. Tom mouthed at Bill's throat, and licked down along a trail of sweat until his mouth closed over the pierced nipple.

"So good, Tomi, oh God," Bill responded, sounding choked. He cradled a hand to the base of Tom's neck and rocked his hips over Tom's lap, forcing the dick in him to roll up in deep, sharp jabs. He wailed and squeezed down around Tom's cock.

Tom tugged on the nipple ring with his teeth and moaned as Bill responded by tightening onto his dick. He flicked through the ring to tease at Bill's pebbled-up point of a nipple, then gathered everything between his lips and sucked.

"Tom!" Bill cried out, bracing himself back on one hand, the other digging in at his nape. Bill was moving in fast and shallow pulses now; urgent, aroused noises were tumbling from his lips.

Bending his head over Bill until the sweep of his unrestrained dreadlocks covered Bill's chest, Tom gripped Bill by both hips, hard, and drew his knees up.

"Get up," he growled.

Bill looked into his face, mouth falling open. The eyes he fixed on Tom were dilated, pleasure-struck. He grabbed Tom's knees behind him and lifted himself up off Tom's cock.

Tom got hold of him and threw Bill on the bed. He was on him in a second, wasting no time as he bent Bill's legs to his chest and spread his thighs up and outward.

"Yes, Tomi, yes; do me," Bill panted frantically, cooperating once he seemed to realize what Tom intended. He grabbed one of his own legs and pulled it up, displaying that glistening pink hole that seized Tom's entire attention for one maddening instant.

Tom manhandled Bill onto his own thighs and fit his dick there to the wink of Bill's entrance. His jaw clenched as he pushed in, more careful than he'd been last time but not exactly slow.

Bill shook as Tom guided his dick back in but when Tom paused, reaching down to cup a hand against his face, Bill merely shook his head and wrapped his other leg up over Tom's waist, urging him on. Tom expelled a careful groan and bore down, fascinated by the way Bill opened up around his dick, so different from a woman. He rode his cock into Bill until he was pressed all the way inside him, every inch sheathed in heat so tight and velvety he thought he could die from the sheer pleasure of it, or come on the spot.

"Move, Tomi," Bill hissed.

Tom did. They both shouted during Tom's first long back-and-forth thrust. Bill clawed at his shoulders, rocking beneath him and trying to get closer, even, than being joined so completely. Tom started out slow, more or less, pulling back until he was nearly out, then working his hard cock back in. Bill screamed hoarsely beneath him, wrapping his other leg around Tom, his inner thighs taut against Tom's sides. Tom propped himself over Bill's flushed, ecstatic face and pumped in and out.

"Faster," Bill moaned, wrapping his arms around Tom's neck, stroking dreadlocks out of their faces. "Harder, _oh_ Tom, you're fucking me so, so good."

Tom could only grunt, quickening the pace and driving directly into Bill's ass.

"Don't stop," Bill told him, and gasped. He squeezed down on Tom, making his rhythm stutter. "God, don't ever stop; I want it to go on and on..."

Tom was breathing in explosive gusts over Bill's neck and face. He couldn't speak, he couldn't groan to give vent to all the pent-up pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside him; all he could do was thrust mindlessly forward as he sought to come, and push Bill over the edge with him. He jackknifed Bill until he could kiss him, then Bill bit down on Tom's lip mid-kiss and pulled his face away, moaning so low and broken Tom was sure for a searing instant that he'd hurt him.

"Tomi," Bill sobbed against his mouth, hands clutching bunches of dreadlocks at Tom's nape as he arched up against him.

The nickname was like a talisman unlocking his pleasure, or maybe it was the trembling heat contracting so deliciously around his dick.

Tom thrust into him and Bill arched his back, moaning with abandon; his dick bumped against Tom's belly again and again as Tom thrust into him and it wasn't a turn-off; not in the least. Heat splashed against Tom's belly and higher and he realized that Bill was coming, smearing ribbons of come between their bellies with every brush of Bill's dick against his taut stomach, and Tom wasn't anything but so turned on he couldn't think. All he could do was keep pumping away, groaning as his climax thundered through him and he emptied everything he had into Bill's sweet little ass.

Arms trembling, Tom eased down, his hips still pulsing with the aftershock as he held himself against Bill.

"Bill," he whispered, stroking sweaty hair away from Bill's stunned face.

Bill blinked up at him, then broke into a dazzling smile. "Tomi," he murmured, and his arms went around Tom, hugging him tightly.

Tom pulled his softening cock free with a quiet hiss, then moved up to gather Bill into his arms. "That was amazing," he said honestly, letting his weight rest on Bill when the other man tugged on him to lie down. He pressed kisses to Bill's neck and the side of his face, ignoring the voice inside him that told him he didn't cuddle after sex, he didn't bask in the afterglow, and he most certainly never should have fucked a man, let alone enjoyed it this much. "That was so..."

"Incredible," Bill supplied, turning his head and brushing a kiss over Tom's ear. "Mmm, it was incredible, Tomi; thank you."

"For what?" Tom asked, dazed.

Bill pressed a hand to Tom's face, grinning up at him. "For making it so good."

"Has it been..." Tom hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I mean, I don't have any right to ask how long, but..."

Bill's nostrils flared and he bit his lip. "Since _him_ ," he said with a nod, and buried his face in Tom's neck.

"Come here," Tom murmured, easing them onto their sides. The voice inside him was screaming, now, as he stroked down Bill's sweat-damp back and cradled him to his chest. Tom told it to go tie one on, and held Bill tighter.

"Mm," Bill rumbled, sounding like a contented, lazy feline. "Play your cards right and you're gonna get lucky again tonight, mister." He draped a leg over Tom's, running his nails back and forth over one of Tom's buttocks.

"I like that," Tom whispered.

They lay there in silence. Tom began to drift off, lulled by the hardest orgasm he'd had in he-couldn't-remember, the sweet musky scent of Bill and their sex all around him, and the barely-noticeable motion of the ship swaying the room from side to side. "I like you," Bill whispered at last, tucking his head under Tom's chin.

Without even thinking, Tom tightened his arm around Bill.

Bill huffed in surprise, then he chuckled. He nuzzled Tom's throat, pressed a small kiss there, and twined their legs together even more closely. "Just a short nap," he mumbled drowsily, "then we're gonna do it again, okay? Wanna...I wanna suck your cock until you come."

Tom's eyes popped open and he wriggled, pressing his pelvis closer to Bill's and making him laugh.

Bill's soft laughter trailed off, and his head sank against Tom. As Tom pulled in slow, even breaths, Bill nestled against him and dozed off for real, if the quiet burbling snores against Tom's collarbone were any indication.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Tom murmured, stroking along the sleek arch of Bill's back. "Giving me something I can have for only a few days, then taking it back."


	8. Chapter 8

Tom woke with his nose pressed against a warm neck. He sighed, found his arm wrapped around a lithe armful of Bill, and molded himself more closely to the other man's backside. Bill smelled like sex and a whiff of musk and lingering vanilla scent. Tom nuzzled into the back of his neck, smiling as he remembered what they'd done last night – early that morning – when they'd woken. Bill had sucked his cock down until he'd had Tom moaning non-stop, then he'd turned around and presented himself. Tom had climbed right on him and after donning another condom, had rocked into Bill hard and steady until they'd both come.

The ship wasn't moving. Tom stroked a hand low over Bill's stomach until Bill stirred in his arms.

"Mmh," Bill mumbled, and groped over his own hip to grasp at Tom's side, caressing his bare skin.

Tom's lips twitched in the semblance of a kiss against Bill's nape, then his eyes widened. "Oh shit," he uttered, as he remembered what day it was. What day it _had_ to be.

"Tom?" Bill said sleepily. "You'd better not be freaking out."

"God," Tom groaned, dropping his head to the back of Bill's neck, as reality set in. Thirty. _Thirty._ If he could have a single day on loop, he'd take yesterday forever – twenty-nine and Bill in his bed. "I'm not freaking out. Not about you, it's...fuck."

Bill said insistently, "What?" He began to squirm in Tom's hold, making Tom groan and press himself to Bill's backside. "This sounds like a freak-out. You..."

"No, I...I have something to tell you," Tom said, ducking to rest his forehead against Bill's shoulder. "Something important."

"What is it?" Bill prompted, writhing onto his side under the sheet to face Tom. He sounded breathless, even a little scared. His dark eyes were wide as he fixed them on Tom's.

"I'm gay," Tom told him, rolling onto his back and stretching an arm out over his head.

"What?" Bill exclaimed. He shifted over and smacked Tom on a bare pectoral.

"Ow." Tom cringed. "What was that for? I've gone gay; what more do you want?"

"Tom," Bill said, hitching himself up over Tom and leaning onto Tom's chest, folding his arms over Tom's sternum and peering down at him. "What makes you say you're gay?"

"That was the best sex I've ever had," Tom said with confidence. He grinned up at Bill.

Bill flicked one of his nipples with a rhinestone-studded fingernail. "And I had nothing to do with that," he said, raising a brow.

"You had everything to do with it," Tom said softly. He smoothed a hand over Bill's back, resting it high on his ass. Then he grinned salaciously and tongued his lip-ring. "And you're a guy, so..."

Bill scoffed. "Tom, good _orgasms_ don't make you gay, just because you were having them with me, a guy."

Tom wriggled his eyebrows. "But I want to keep doing it with you. Again, and again..." He slipped his hand lower, stroking a finger into Bill's cleft and rubbing suggestively over the bud of his entrance.

Bill shuddered and shifted atop him, eyes fluttering. "Still doesn't...mmh." He bit his lip. "Still doesn't make you gay, Tom."

"Bill," Tom said patiently. "I'm not going to be modest. I've fucked a lot of girls. Women. A _lot_ , okay?"

Looking annoyed, Bill smacked his chest again. "Okay, we get it. You're a stud."

Tom wrinkled his nose. "Not really. Just taking advantage of opportunity. Anyhow, I can say, hands down, last night was the best sex I've ever had. And I've had a lot to compare against."

Face glowing, Bill told him, "You don't need to pump it up that much, Tomi; you're getting laid again."

Tom grinned. "That's the thing; I'm not pumping it up. I'm not exaggerating at all. Okay?" He stroked through the ruffled black hair at the side of Bill's face. "It's impossible for a guy to fake an orgasm, but I might as well have been, all those years. Compared to how it was with you." He blinked up at Bill and started to shift uncomfortably, now smothered by the sense that he was trapped by the weight of the other man, rather than lying pleasantly entangled.

Bill's mouth twitched but he didn't say anything to that. He ducked his head and kissed Tom's sternum, then rolled off him to one side. "I'm going to use your bathroom," he informed him, patting one of Tom's legs.

Tom grunted an affirmative and twisted over onto his belly to look at a clock. He sat up to hitch himself to the edge of the bed, then let himself collapse onto his back with a groan as the door to the bathroom clicked shut around the corner. He wasn't freaking out, Tom told himself. He wasn't freaking out so much as he was...concerned.

If someone had asked Tom yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or a week ago what he wanted most out of life, the answer would have been to keep playing his guitar and getting paid for it as long as possible. Now he'd woken from the most satisfying sleep he could recall and his mind was resounding with Bill, all Bill and only Bill.

It was pushing him to a place beyond concern; he was scared. The lesson of his life had been not to make his own happiness or hopes dependent on another person; everyone left, sooner or later. His father had left before he'd even been born. Friends, teachers, girlfriends; all of them had betrayed him sooner or later. His mother had died of cancer when he'd still been in his late teens, and the step-father that Tom had once adored, maybe even revered, had broken their relationship beyond repair and taken everything from Tom, every last memento or keepsake that should have been his, car and house and photo albums lost to him now. He couldn't afford to let himself care for someone else at the expense of his own self-preservation.

And so he tried not to care too deeply about anyone at all.

"I can't," Tom said, grinding fists into his eyes, but he thought it might already be too late.

He pushed himself upright and mussed dreadlocks swung around his face. He pushed them back with an impatient hand and got up, snagged a pair of boxers, walked out to the veranda and checked the weather. They were at port again, anchored beside a long beige strip of concrete pier. Rather than a beach today, a semi-circle of dock dominated the immediate view, giving way into crowded streets crammed with buildings stacked up against one another, everything in tones of adobe with flashes of red and green. Palm trees thrust against the unbroken blue of the sky here and there. Off to the far left, in the distance, the outlines of a crumbling fort-like structure were visible.

When Tom returned to his room, Bill was pattering around wearing a towel as he gathered up his things. He flashed a smile Tom's way, one leg of his velvet pants dangling over his arm. His face was make-up free, his brows paler now without the thick pencil to shade them in, and Tom stared at him for an instant; but for the mole high on his chin, Bill reminded him suddenly and staggeringly of the view in Tom's own mirror.

"Come here," Tom said quietly, reaching out to circle Bill's wrist with his fingers, reeling him in for a kiss.

Bill came readily, pressing against his chest with a quiet moan. "What do you want to do for breakfast?" he asked, licking at his wet bottom lip. Makeup-free lashes lowered, lids veiling his intense brown eyes.

The question was an assumption that whatever they did, they would do it together, and it made Tom want to snap something quick and hurtful to sever that implication and keep him free, untethered. It was dangerous, so dangerous. It was on the tip of his tongue to turn the question around and ask Bill what _he_ had planned, because Tom had ordered breakfast for one on his veranda.

A lie, and a dodge.

Bill's eyes flicked up, meeting his again, and Tom let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Lido Deck?" he offered, and was rewarded by the dazzle of Bill's smile, bright enough to outstrip the morning sun. It gave him the impression he'd made the right choice. Fuck it, he told his inner voice recklessly. "Bill...spend the day with me?"

The grin widened a bit; turned somewhat mischievous. "Try and stop me," Bill said, and leaned forward to press their lips together. "Wear jeans, okay? Meet me at my cabin once you've showered and we'll go up and get you some coffee."

"And eggs Benedict," Tom said. He grabbed Bill's ass as Bill turned to gather the rest of his clothes to make the run back to his cabin. Bill produced an adorable, dismayed noise; so naturally, Tom had to lean over and do it again, Bill tried to tickle him in retaliation, and it was a good ten minutes before Tom managed to get his ass into the shower.

Mindful of Bill's dictate, Tom found a pair of sturdy jeans and dug up one of his artfully-graffiti'd t-shirts, grabbed his stateroom card and wallet, since the port would involve activities that would almost certainly cost him wads of cash, and ducked out of his cabin. As an afterthought, he grabbed the itinerary from his mail receptacle and scanned it before sticking it back in; dinner was smart casual again, and the ship wouldn't leave port until midnight, no doubt to allow some of those hip oldsters to take advantage of the nightclub action. Tom smirked over the thought that he and Bill would no doubt find _something_ to entertain them.

He came face to face with Michael on his way down the corridor to Bill's.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Trümper," Michael said, his granite face cracking in a smile.

Tom stared up at him, aghast. "Shh!" he hissed. "I don't want...anyone...to know."

"Sir?" Michael cocked his head at him and looked like Tom had just kicked his puppy.

"I mean..." Tom sighed and facepalmed. "Thank you, Michael, I appreciate the good wishes. And I don't want Bill to know, if that's...okay?"

Michael pulled a confused face, but nodded.

"I think we're going into town today," Tom said, checking his watch and striding past Michael. "So, uh, I don't know...maybe you could check out an excursion?"

"If you're going on an excursion today, so am I," Michael said firmly, falling into step behind him. "We're at port in a larger city today, Mr. Trümper, and if something happened to you, that would be _very_ bad."

Tom sighed. "But I don't think the band is very well known here...You could always, uh, 'lose' me?"

"Not on my watch, Mr. Trümper."

Tom gave it up for a lost cause. He tugged the hem of his shirt to smooth it flat, knocked on Bill's door, and crossed his arms, trying to summon up the armor that had served him so well for so long.

The door popped open and Bill stood on the threshold, grinning and exuberant. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Tom responded, smiling involuntarily as his eyes roamed over the other man. Bill was gorgeous as usual, wearing a fitted white t-shirt with a silkscreened glittering-silver pattern involving wings and a crown and a crimson-red heart that resembled an ink splatter. The shirt rode up to reveal a strip of belly above low-riding indigo denim jeans over motorcycle boots. His make-up was impeccably done again, neutral colors except for thick, dark eyebrows and smoky shadow around his eyes. Tom leaned in before he realized.

Bill stepped out of his cabin, letting the door swing shut behind him as he crowded Tom in the hall, arms going around his neck as he offered a glossed mouth.

"Mm," Tom mumbled against Bill's lips. He tasted so good, and Tom was pretty sure that the berry gloss and toothpaste were only a fraction of the reason why. He rested a hand low on Bill's back and kept the other at his waist. He was glad Bill was keeping his mouth occupied, lest he say something incredibly stupid such as Bill being his best birthday present, ever.

"Come on, let's get upstairs before they stop serving," Bill said, pulling away from Tom's mouth, leaving him licking his lips. He slipped his hand into Tom's, who was all too willing by this point to be led.

Dangerous, Tom's instincts screamed at him. He'd already asked Bill to spend the day, though, and maybe he was weak, or getting soft, because the thought of sending Bill packing off with a few well-placed asshole phrases made his gut clench in sickly horror. He couldn't do it.

"What do you want to do with the day?" Tom wondered, counting on the fact that Bill had a few ideas. He might not be a social butterfly, as his deprecating remarks hinted, but he was definitely better than Tom at wringing every bit of enjoyment out of the trip. The catamaran and certain grape and champagne flavored kisses stood out vividly in Tom's recollection. He was sure Bill had to be booked for some kind of excursion.

Before Bill, Tom had pretty much planned on drinking his birthday away. He probably would've holed up at some tourist bar, gotten hammered enough to get himself kicked out, and left Michael to pick up the wrecked pieces of Tom to haul back to the ship before it left port.

"I doubt you're up for a day of port shopping," Bill mused, arching black brows in his direction.

Tom's nostrils flared as an undoubtedly horrified expression froze his face solid.

Bill laughed. "Kidding! Relax, I wouldn't waste a day picking up stuff I could get at home as easily," he said, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. "I'm booked for a horseback tour of the hills around the city, followed by drinks and a late picnic lunch."

Tom nodded, dreadlocks bobbing at his nape. He was glad he'd donned a cap to keep them up out of the way. "So...what if they don't have enough tickets left? Wherever I go today I have to take the big guy, here," Tom said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate his bodyguard.

"Oh. Yes, right," Bill said, though Tom thought he looked somewhat disappointed. He turned and gave Michael a cheery wave anyhow, as they paused to wait for the elevator. "You know, we're only one floor away; let's just run up, okay? We can check out the kiosk and see if the trip is sold out or if there aren't two tickets left..."

"I dunno, think you can make the stairs?" Tom teased, dropping his hands low to grab at Bill's thighs. "You were so wild last night..."

Bill made an interesting noise in his throat; some kind of squeak-moan hybrid, and Tom laughed.

"You think you've seen wild?" Bill said, looming close to deliver his breathy words near Tom's ear. "You haven't seen anything yet, mister Bill-made-me-gay."

Now Tom was the one to squeak, and he had to shift in a desperate attempt to avoid growing arousal from getting out of hand. Bill grabbed him by the wrist and steered him for the stairwell.

As luck would have it, there were open spaces for Bill's excursion, which left in a little over an hour and gave them time for a breakfast that was more like brunch, or early lunch for most people who weren't Tom, and people like him accustomed to waking at two or three in the afternoon and calling the first thing he ate 'breakfast.' It probably had something to do with the fact that a good deal of the boomers on the cruise might not be fit enough for horseback riding, one or both halves of many couples. He reconsidered the thought as he recalled some of the swing dance moves he'd seen the night before. Tom purchased two tickets, handed one to Michael, and followed Bill's pert little ass into the Lido restaurant. He walked behind Bill and kept his hands glued to the points of the other man's irresistible hips. Even through Bill's jeans, Tom wanted to stroke them.

A sensation was welling up inside his chest, buoyant and terrifying. He tried to shove it down and ignore it. Dealing with it in any way, shape, or form would make it real.

Once they got plates in the buffet line, he had to settle for crowding as close as he could to Bill as he held onto his plate with one hand and kept the other at Bill's back, ostensibly to keep from losing him in the press of people that were still lining up around the buffet stations. They found an unoccupied four-top in the crowded restaurant but, since they had to settle for what they could get that day, it didn't have a view of the port sprawling alongside the windows.

"I'm so glad there were still tickets," Bill said happily, cutting into his eggs and breaking the yolks over the toast he'd piled onto his plate as a first layer.

Tom nodded, gulping coffee and feeling more alert simply from the smell of it. "What would you've done if it had been full up?"

Bill blinked his brown, faintly-slanted eyes at Tom. "Found something else, of course," he said, as though Tom were dense to be asking. "We could have made our own picnic, I'm sure. Maybe on the beach, instead." He grinned and took a big bite of his food.

Tom cut into his own eggs, surprised to find he was happy enough carving them apart enough to break them up instead of making surgical-precise, equally sized pieces. He smiled down at his plate. "Maybe we should keep that idea in mind for the next port," he suggested.

"Mm, I like it," Bill agreed.

"Bill?" a voice called behind Tom's shoulder. "Oh, Bill! It's good to see you, darling! Do you have room at your table? Gil and I can't find space anywhere to save our lives!" It was a woman's voice, laying forth a Southern drawl.

Bill lifted his chin and gazed over Tom's shoulder. "Dorcas, hi!" he replied with an excited little wave. "Sure, let me budge over next to Tom and you can sit across from us."

Before Tom could crane a look over his shoulder, Bill was leaning over and saying in a lower voice, "You don't mind, right?" and Tom found himself shaking his head before the question had quite registered with him. Bill flashed him a smile that made it all worth it, of course, and slid his plate and coffee across the table into the space beside Tom.

"Hey," Bill said, low-voiced, tipping into the chair right next to Tom. His face was hovering near.

Tom whispered back, "Hey," and closed the distance enough to press their foreheads together.

Bill's smile was blinding from such a close distance.

An older couple seated themselves across the table; a rail-skinny woman with blazing red hair and freckles all over her face and suntanned cleavage, and a man with a bulbous nose and wispy hair straggling from a straw hat, the overall impression of a tourist cemented by the florid blue and white palm tree print shirt buttoned over a straining gut. They set down plates of food and aimed expectant smiles across the table.

"Tom, this is Gilbert and Dorcas," Bill introduced them, grasping at Tom's hand as though to gentle him through the small talk. "I met them at a cooking demonstration on our first full day at sea."

"Morning," Tom said easily enough, giving them both nods.

"Oh, Bill, is this your young man, here?" Dorcas said, her smile ratcheting up a notch, her voice a little too loud.

Bill tipped an inquiring look in Tom's direction. "I don't know, Tomi; are you my man?" His fingers squeezed down on Tom's.

Tom's stomach bottomed out and his face got hot. Despite the sheer terror that was coursing through his veins like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, there was only one way to answer. "I'd better be," he responded, poking at the lip-ring through his lip in a quick, nervous gesture.

Bill's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Tomi," he murmured, leaning in closer, and Tom was moving to span the distance between them with a kiss when a loud throat-clearing from across the table made him start.

Tom tightened his fingers on Bill's when those fingers began to withdraw. Long since used to multi-tasking with both hands, he picked up his fork in his left hand to begin devoting himself to the remains of his breakfast.

"Oh," Bill said, and sounded for an instant as though he'd apologize. "Gil, Dorcas, this is Tom."

"Shipboard romance," Dorcas sighed, her hazel eyes alight. "How amazing. How did the two of you meet?"

"We kept bumping into each other!" Bill said with a laugh. "It was fate. I think Tom hated me at first sight." He turned knowing dark eyes on Tom.

"I didn't hate you," Tom protested at once. "I...I resented the impact that you had on me."

"Well, hate's the flip side of love," Dorcas said with a nod. Gil mumbled something and devoted his attention to his breakfast plate.

Tom gave her a strained smile and thought to himself that if she added that opposites attract, he was going to stab himself in the leg with his breakfast fork. As though sensing the thought, or at least the tension, Bill squeezed his hand again. Tom took a large bite of egg and toast because if his mouth was occupied, it was another impediment to acting like an asshole.

"Enjoying your cruise so far?" Bill asked them, scraping up his own breakfast with a corner of toast.

"Oh, yes!" Dorcas replied with enthusiasm. "And you? You seemed so out of sorts at first, Bill. You're looking much happier now."

Tom hid his smirk in his coffee mug. Getting laid would do that.

"I think the both of us got off to a rocky start," Bill said, and Tom could feel the weight of Bill's gaze on him now. "Everything's good right now. Wonderful. We're going on the horseback tour of the city today."

"Sounds wonderful!" Dorcas enthused. "And you, Tom?"

Tom finished up with another bite of breakfast and considered his words for a moment. "I started out with a pretty miserable frame of mind but Bill's brought me around," he said, glancing over at the other man. "Now I can't think of any place I'd rather be today." _Than by Bill's side,_ he added in his thoughts, but that was too much for him.

Bill beamed over at him anyhow.

"What are the two of you doing on the cruise?" Gil mumbled. "Neither of you are with the entertainment, are you? You kids are too young to be going on an old folks' cruise."

"Thank you," Bill said, nudging at Tom, who was going through doleful mental revolutions over the fact that today he was in the age bracket that brought him that much closer to being 'old folks,' and AARP probably had a membership application in the mail to him to await his homecoming.

Tom grimaced. "My manager has an odd sense of humor?" he offered. "I asked for a vacation where I could see some sights and avoid, uh, intrusive people, and next thing I knew I was booked for this cruise."

Dorcas laughed. "Shows what your manager knows about old folks," she said. "We're the nosiest kind of people."

Bill's laughter joined hers. "Try telling that to Tom," he said. "I wouldn't leave him alone until he gave me a chance."

"Still kind of wondering why," Tom murmured, and Bill caught his eye and gave him a small, encouraging smile. It wasn't due to having read any of the internet rumors regarding his prowess, because Bill didn't know him.

"Maybe I like your face," Bill suggested, biting his lip.

Tom opened his mouth to accuse Bill of narcissism, given the similarity he'd noted between their faces, and he bit his tongue. Gil, and most certainly Dorcas, would probably think it was creepy, and there was a chance that Bill would get all self-conscious about it, as well.

"Well, maybe I like yours," he replied instead, because it was true; it was definitely true.

"So adorable," Dorcas cooed from across the table, and Tom lifted his chin, annoyed.

They didn't have to suffer through too much more breakfast conversation, fortunately, as Bill glanced at his watch not long after and declared that it was time for them to go. Tom nodded at Gil and Dorcas and Bill wished them a cheery 'have a great rest of the cruise!' and they were off.

"That wasn't so bad," Bill told him encouragingly.

"Ehh," Tom said. "I'd rate it above getting kneed in the balls but below death by paper cuts."

"Cute," Bill told him, leading him toward the elevators. "We're off to our horseback riding tour, now, so the afternoon should be an improvement?"

"Dunno, I might still rate it below death by paper cuts," Tom replied with a teasing grin.

Bill arched a brow at him as they drew to a stop side by side near the elevators. There was a steady ebb and flow of people up and down the stairwell, probably heading for the gangway several decks down. "Keep on that way and you'll be risking the knee to the balls," he said warningly, but he threaded their fingers together as he said it.

Tom made an alarmed noise and began to scoot back from him. "You don't think you'll need them functional, later?"

Bill grinned without answering and reached for Tom's belt as the elevator dinged, heralding the arrival of the car at their floor. He dragged Tom onto the car with him by virtue of that grip on his belt, though it had to be said, Tom went willingly.

The doors closed as Bill waved over Tom's shoulder, presumably at hapless Michael.

"Come here," Tom murmured, crowding Bill against the corner and trapping him between two rails. He glanced over his shoulder, but the door was already shut.

"It's all right, he knows where to find us – the departing excursions leave from the pier," Bill assured him.

Tom bent his attention back to Bill, hoping that the fact that he couldn't care less whether Michael caught up to them was reflected in his eyes. Apparently it was, because Bill lifted his chin, his smile melting away as his lips parted.

"Gonna kiss you," Tom murmured, stroking Bill's hair away from his face before moving in to drag his lips over Bill's.

Bill kissed him back hungrily, his mouth sweet with his last sip of milky coffee. Tom licked into the corners, chasing every bit of it as Bill rubbed against him with an anxious noise. A hand was tugging at his dreadlocks and Tom unfastened his mouth with a reluctant gasp. "Tom...Tomi, it's a glass elevator," Bill said against his lips.

"I don't care," Tom groaned, stroking his hands down Bill's front until he found the tantalizing points of those hips beneath Bill's indigo jeans.

Bill groaned back, pushing his hips up against Tom's palms. Their lips connected again and again. Bill nibbled delicately at Tom's lip ring; Tom thrust his tongue against Bill's and licked against the roof of his mouth. They shared a long, steamy kiss, all tongue and hot breath pouring back and forth between them and the hint of teeth clashing as Bill squirmed against him, grabbing handfuls of Tom's dreadlocks.

"Stop, oh, stop," Bill panted against his lips when Tom crowded closer, rubbing his thumbs over Bill's hips. He licked at Tom's lips again anyhow and slipped his tongue between them to thrust against his again.

"We could go back upstairs," Tom whispered against Bill's irresistible mouth.

Bill groaned and pressed a leg between Tom's thighs, not kneeing him but putting some uncomfortable pressure on his balls. "Noo...I want to go riding..."

"We can do plenty of riding in my cabin," Tom promised, grunting as Bill moved forward, increasing the pressure to the edge of pain. "Okay, okay! We'll get you to your picnic in the hills."

Bill's grin in response was utter mischief.

Outside the ship, the crowded gangway led to an equally packed pier. There were groups milling everywhere, excursion guides holding up signs and calling out the titles of their events. Tom took one look at the immense crowd of people and a reflexive stab of panic went through him; he glanced over his shoulder and was reassured to see Michael just behind, giving him a brief nod. The knot of anxiety eased somewhat; crowds were usually associated with screaming girls trying to rip his clothes off, even though this one looked rather sedate by anyone's standards.

"Come on," Bill told him, took one look at his face, and threaded two of his fingers through the nearest of Tom's belt loops. "We're gonna stay together, okay?"

Tom nodded, summoning up a watery grin. He grasped the t-shirt at Bill's shoulder just to be sure.

After joining up with their excursion group, they were counted off by twelves and followed one of the guides to a shuttle bus. After waiting some ten minutes for a driver, while the older couples chatted in loud voices all around them and Tom bounced his knee until Bill set a hand on it, they pulled out ahead of a tour bus, the two vehicles coming perilously close to a collision and both of them blaring their horns. The streets near the port were colorful, jammed with battered dirty cars and lined with awnings and painted buildings, women in bright-patterned skirts and men with loud shirts. Bill set his chin on Tom's shoulder to look out the window and Tom couldn't keep his eyes away from the sights that passed in a blur as their driver rocketed the shuttle bus through the streets. He set his hand on Bill's atop his knee.

They drove for what seemed like hours, though it was surely twenty, thirty minutes tops, until they were circling the city on winding roads that wrapped the edge of cut-away hills. The port sprawled out to the right side of the shuttle bus and Tom admired the mingled turquoise and indigo blues of the water that surrounded the ship and filled out the half-moon dock that cupped the encroaching sea.

At last, the shuttle bus made a sharp right turn through a wooden gate with a sign affixed that simply read, "Horseback tours." They drove through a stretch of overhanging trees that opened out onto a ranch-style house with what appeared to be a barn around the side. The shuttle bus parked and the driver chivvied them off with good-humored patter.

"I'll be waiting here for you when you get back...if you're lucky! Tips accepted in advance," the man joked as he passed them over to a slim, dark-skinned woman with black hair pulled back in a neat tail.

She separated them into groups of experienced riders and "greenhorns" as she called them, and Bill and Tom both aligned themselves with the latter group. Amazingly enough, Michael self-identified with the riders, and the guide gave him the largest horse in the stable. Based on those categories she assigned them to horses, then left the riders to mount their own horses while she helped the greenhorns to get a leg up.

The trail wound around the hills and cut a path through the woods, affording a fabulous view of the city below and the ocean beyond. Tom found himself enjoying himself, the relaxed, weightless sensation staying with him as he listened to their guide talk about the features of the city and point out certain landmarks. He looked around with interest, but he was pretty sure that the best view of the whole trip was the one he had of Bill's backside.

After a few hours, the trail looped back around and down a steep switchback, and they returned to the ranch house and its attached stables. Bill slipped his hand into Tom's as they returned to the shuttle bus, and Tom squeezed his fingers and gave him a bashful grin.

The shuttle bus driver drove them out to a hill overlooking the crumbling fort, where a picnic lunch had been laid out. There were already couples seated here and there, dotting the grass or making use of tables. Tom grabbed a couple of boxed lunches for them while Bill went and staked out a place on the grass that was remote, partaking of the fabulous view but far distant from other couples.

"Come here," Bill invited, patting the grass beside him and craning his neck, shading his eyes to squint up at the sunlit outline of Tom.

"Did you like it?" Tom mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Of course I liked it," Bill said, wrapping one arm around his knees as he brought them to his chest. "I was with you, wasn't I?" He winked and put his head to the side.

Unfair, Tom almost groaned. When Bill looked at him like that it made Tom want to promise him just about anything. _What are you doing to me?_ he wanted to question again, knowing that Bill would have no answer. If he did, it might be to tell Tom he was bringing him to life again.

"Where do you live?" Tom said abruptly, out of the blue. They had been talking about nothing in particular only moments before; observations about the fort below, a chuckle for some of their driver's inane jokes, and sharing opinions on favorite spots of the New Amsterdam to spend time.

"Why?" Bill murmured, giving Tom wide eyes.

Tom tilted his head to flash Bill a look.

"You want to date me?" Bill continued, biting one corner of his full lower lip.

Tom merely wiggled his eyebrows in response. He couldn't give voice to any words that would bespeak commitment, or anything more involved than enjoying one another's bodies as they had been. He did know that he wanted it to go on for as long as possible; he hadn't gotten nearly enough of Bill.

"Chicago," Bill said, leaning his chin on one knee. His smile dimmed; his eyes were wistful. "You?"

"New York," Tom replied, "but I travel a lot."

Bill smirked at him. "Well, me too. Travelogue writer," he reminded Tom.

"Oh," Tom said, and nodded. He was sorry he'd asked; what point did it serve? He recalled Dorcas's comment from breakfast that morning, and the way her eyes had lit up. What was so great about a shipboard romance? How did it make sense to get attached to someone to the point where you wanted someone this much, only to leave them?

Bill reached out and smoothed a hand over his forearm. "Done with your food? Let's go for a little walk."

Tom pitched the remains of his sandwich in the box that his lunch had come from. He chewed on his lip-ring and nodded, looking out over the water.

Bill's hand smoothed over Tom's shoulder as he got to his feet, then he held out his hand.

There was an instant of hesitation on Tom's part before he put his own hand into Bill's slim, elegant fingers. Bill was stronger than he looked; he pulled Tom upright with a single tug.

Milling around the grassy hill, they stretched their legs for several long moments before Bill led him off into the fringe of trees that led into a thicket of forest. Bill turned thickly-lashed eyes his way in a silent appeal.

"Are you sorry you met me?" he whispered, at Tom's continued silence.

Tom startled. "What?" he said, barely comprehending.

"Sorry I pushed the issue, maybe?" Bill altered the question, turning Tom to face him. He was biting his lip.

"No. _No_ ," Tom said fiercely, grabbing Bill's face and descending on him, pressing lips to Bill's cheek, his nose, joining their lips in an urgent kiss. If it hurt later, then he'd take it for now.

Bill whimpered and tugged Tom with him to stumble a few steps back. They collided with a nearby tree and Bill cried out softly, but his arms went around Tom's neck hard, clinging tight.

"I want to touch you," Tom said, pressing against Bill until his back was flush against the tree. He worked one hand up Bill's shirt and petted over warm, hairless belly. "I need to touch you." He kissed at Bill's mouth and ran the pads of his fingertips over Bill's belly, over and back, starting out with a light touch and stroking harder, firmer, with each pass. Meanwhile he kissed him again and again, each kiss a little more desperate than the last. All he knew was that he couldn't stop now.

"Mmh," Bill responded, kissing him back and thrilling the head of his tongue stud against Tom's bottom lip before curling tentatively against his tongue.

Getting bolder, Tom dropped his hand to Bill's jeans and undid the button one-handed, drawing the zip down.

Bill gasped softly against his mouth and widened his legs, his body pliant beneath Tom's.

Tom dipped his hand into the radiant heat at the gaping V of Bill's fly, touching and massaging the hardening lump within his boxers until Bill was whimpering against his lips, his return kisses mostly lax now as Tom traced out the shape of him.

"Tom...ahh," Bill groaned, and cried out as Tom finessed Bill's cock through the opening in his boxers and wrapped his calloused fingers around him.

Dipping his head, Tom kissed along Bill's neck as his beautiful lover panted and moaned prettily in his ear, one hand winding desperately into the dreadlocks at Tom's nape. Bill thrust up into his hand and Tom licked and sucked, not really intending to leave a mark but lifting his head from the glistening trail he'd left to find it darkening beneath his lips.

"Oh...oh, Tom," Bill moaned, rubbing his lips along Tom's jaw and pushing his hips up again. Their lips met and Tom sent his tongue questing into Bill's mouth again as he worked his hand steadily over Bill's cock. He used all the tricks in his repertoire that had him coming hard whenever he went for solo gratification. He twisted around the head, switched to firm strokes up and down the shaft, and played with Bill's foreskin until Bill wrapped a leg around him and thrust harder into the tight clasp of his hand.

"Come for me, Bill," Tom whispered against his ear. He sneaked his fingers over Bill's hip and grabbed a handful of tight little ass, cupping Bill against his body. He worked his hand into the crease and bumped his knuckles against Bill's hole.

"Tom...Tom, Tomi," Bill whimpered, and his face surged forward. Their noses bumped painfully hard then Bill bit down on Tom's bottom lip. His cock convulsed in Tom's hand.

Tom brought his hand up Bill's back and caressed soothingly up and down as Bill moaned and sucked at his lip, spilling his load over Tom's fingers. They kissed a while longer and Bill panted into his mouth, rubbing his leg over Tom and then lowering it.

"Good?" Tom queried, resting their foreheads together.

"So good," Bill assured him, nipping Tom's lip and flashing him a beatific smile.

Tom lifted his hand and regarded the come on his fingers, milky-pale and thick. Wrinkling his nose a little, he lifted it up and licked it off. He didn't want to rub it on his jeans, he wasn't going to be asshole enough to wipe it on Bill's, and there weren't a whole lot of other options, so he cleaned it off his hand with his tongue. It was a weird taste, bland at first then it hit him like licking sweat off someone's skin, bitter and musk with a trace of salt. He twitched his nose again.

Bill watched him do it with wide eyes. Then he shook his head a little, broke into one of his one hundred watt smiles, and pressed his lips to Tom's.

"You didn't even have to swallow," Bill purred, "but I will."

"Yeah?" Tom said hoarsely.

"Oh, yeah," Bill replied. He tugged at Tom's jeans. Nails stroked along the ridge of Tom's cock and rubbed him through his boxers. "I told you, didn't I? I want you to come in my mouth, Tomi."

Tom closed his eyes and sank back against the tree as Bill got down on his knees.

There was no delay between the pants being stripped down his thighs far enough to allow access, and the tight warmth of Bill's hot mouth taking him in. Bill fed Tom's cock directly from his boxers between his lips, working over the tip and undulating his tongue against the head.

"Ah, ahh," Tom panted, his fingertips scratching over Bill's scalp as his lover's head bobbed back and forth. Bill opened his throat and took on more cock, swallowing with a thick, moist sound. Tom let out an explosive breath and his head jerked back against the tree. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been deep-throated and it definitely hadn't been this enthusiastic. Bill was slurping him down and making excited noises deep in his throat. The sound tickled all around him. Bill's wet lips slid up and down his length. The tightness of Bill's throat around him was incredible and the bump and press of that silver bead was maddening against the central vein.

Bill's hair brushed against Tom's thighs and the soft, explosive breaths from his nose stirred the spit-slick topside of Tom's cock. He went back and forth tirelessly, the noise in his throat building from pleased verbalizations to full-on humming as he sucked Tom down and worked him between his full, swollen lips.

Tom groaned, looking down into Bill's eyes. They flickered up at him at the first touch of Tom's hand against Bill's face, stroking along his jaw and cheek. Teasing, Bill changed the angle and pushed Tom's dick into the pocket of his cheek, making the skin stretch around the bulge of Tom's cock and bump his thumb out of the way. "Fuck," Tom hissed. "God, Bill, you're so good."

Bill's eyes grinned up at him and Tom resumed stroking the side of his face. He was going to come soon, especially if Bill kept looking up at him like that, his eyes wide and dilated-dark, framed by thick lashes and smoky grey shadow. His lips were wet and shone a swollen-red around Tom's cock. When he began to hum his enjoyment again, Tom lost it. He choked out Bill's name and cradled Bill's face in his hands, trying to keep his eyes open when they wanted to squeeze shut. He didn't want to miss a second.

Backing off his cock, Bill lapped and sucked at the head as Tom came, his hips moving in shallow pulses. Amazed, Tom watched Bill lipping the head of his dick as he spilled into his mouth and over his tongue, washing over the bead of Bill's piercing with gouts of come. If it weren't for the solid line of the tree against his back, Tom was sure he would have collapsed by now.

"Mm," Bill verbalized, swallowing and licking up everything. He suckled the head of Tom's cock until Tom groaned and arched his back, trying to carefully free his cock of Bill's grasp. Bill placed a last kiss to Tom's moist dick and tucked him back into his boxers, petting the front before zipping him up.

"Bill," Tom murmured, having no superlative stronger as Bill got to his feet, flushed and wiping at his own mouth. With a brief, almost furtive sidelong glance, Bill began to move off. Tom latched a hand around his wrist. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

Bill's eyes sparked a challenge over at him as Tom reeled him in. "Thought you'd prefer it if I bummed a mint off someone."

"Come here," Tom said in response to that, gathering Bill back into his arms until their chests were pressed together. Bill's nipples were still taut with arousal beneath his thin t-shirt and Tom cupped one, flicking it with his thumbnail as he brought their mouths together.

A call in the distance was followed by the honk of a horn and Tom pulled his mouth from Bill's with reluctance.

Bill grinned over at him. "Back to the ship, Tomi?"

Tom sighed, but he was grinning back; he couldn't help it. He was in the mood for a shower and a swim, maybe a little hot tubbing, a leisurely afternoon lovemaking session... Of course, he was probably going to go along with whatever Bill had in mind. Each of his ideas had been spectacular so far, where Tom was concerned.

"Yeah, let's go," he agreed. He was so mellow right now, he could agree to just about anything that Bill wanted from him. "Whatever you want to do this afternoon, port shopping, dance clubs; I'm in your hands."

Bill tipped his head to the side in consideration, and squeaked as Tom slipped a hand into his back pocket, squeezing a cheek and keeping his hand there as they walked side by side back to the shuttle bus. "You still have that whole strip of condoms, right?"

"Oh my God, yes," Tom answered fervently.

Bill tossed a naughty look his way and informed him, "I'm thinking a little swimming, light necking on the outside deck, sex in the shower..."

"You are the perfect lover," Tom pronounced aloud before he could stop the words or engage his internal censor.

Once again, though, Bill's blinding smile outstripped the sun, and left Tom without regrets.


	9. Chapter 9

The fact that Tom was in love with Bill Kaulitz hit him with the force of a wrecking ball as they were seated over cocktails during happy hour and Bill laughed at Tom's stupid "Sex on the Beach" joke.

It had been an idle afternoon, and the ship wasn't due to leave port for hours. They had come back to the ship, swum in the outdoor pool, showered together and enjoyed each other's company more than the small shower stall was intended to allow, then they'd settled on Tom's veranda which was getting good afternoon sunlight exposure. Tom had woken with Bill in his lap, a mouth working busily on his cock. When he'd roused enough to participate fully, Bill had scooted up and given him a delighted smile and a kiss, screwing himself down on Tom and rocking onto him so sweet and slow he thought they'd achieve nirvana before they came, until the sudden hot spill of come on Tom's belly and the clench of Bill around him had made him cry out and push up sharply, giving Bill everything he had. Afterward they'd cleaned up at their respective cabins and met for drinks at the bar down the hall from the dining room.

Bill cackled with unrestrained enthusiasm at the tail end of Tom's punch line, leaning one elbow against the bar, his dark hair fanning out over his face as he slapped his other knee and his eyes crinkled up in pure amusement, fixed on Tom. He was alight over what had to be one of Tom's dumbest jokes and it warmed Tom, made his stomach tighten up with fear and lust and an overriding giddy sensation that made the bottom drop out from his world.

"Ah, that's good," Bill said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, still grinning over at Tom.

"Well, then you're easily amused," Tom replied with a shake of his head, but he couldn't stop smiling like a fool. His chest hurt. He should say something, shouldn't he?

"What day is it?" Bill said abruptly, looking around with a frown, down at his wrist as though he expected an answer to greet him there, but he wasn't wearing a watch.

"Fuck...I don't know," Tom croaked. That was the other terror; he was past his expiration date as of some time this late evening and now he'd found the love of his life, who was going to walk out of it in a few days. It was all happening so fast.

As Tom struggled with the renewed impact of that, Bill was waving to get the bartender's attention.

"Excuse me, what day is it?" Bill asked him, and at the slant of the man's frown he clarified, "today's date?"

"It's September 1st," the bartender told them.

Tom managed to rather successfully contain a wince. As though Michael's attempted birthday wishes hadn't been enough, now he had confirmation.

Bill was looking rather peaked.

Tom angled his barstool to bring him closer to Bill. "What's wrong," he wanted to know, reaching out to cover Bill's hand in a gesture both instinctive and new. He wasn't the touchy-feelie type, never had been, but touching Bill brought him a sense of connection, of being grounded, that he'd never had before.

"Nothing, I...nothing," Bill replied, giving him a pale smile. "It's only...I wanted to have more accomplished by now, I guess?"

Tom started to retract his hand and Bill seized onto it, lacing their fingers together. "I...what do you mean? Give yourself some slack, we're in the middle of a cruise, after all." He drained his drink and set the empty highball glass on the polished granite surface of the bar. It was an effort, but he summoned up a smirk for Bill and continued, "Unless you're referring to any planned renovations to me? Five days isn't much time for a personality overhaul."

Bill inhaled, his brow creasing in a brief, puzzled frown. It gave way to a slow-blooming smile. "Do you want to date me, Tomi?" he said, repeating his question from earlier that afternoon.

Tom had to turn his face away, unable to hold the gaze of those earnest, warm brown eyes. Past the bar, the window beyond afforded a breathtaking vista of the city framed in rosy pinks and burnt oranges. The waters of the harbor were dulling with the onset of night and the hills were speckled with twinkling lights like a preface to the starry sky that would soon blot out the overhead view.

"I don't want to let you go," Tom admitted, low-voiced. How long had it been since he'd acknowledged even to himself that there was something irreplaceable to him? _There's always spare guitars,_ he'd said, but there was only one Bill – at least, only one of the beautiful Bill by his side. It was hard, and the words dragged out of him in a rasp. "I don't want to lose...this. You." He shifted uneasily in his chair again and looked to Bill at last.

Bill was sitting bolt upright in his seat and his eyes were wide, almost shocked. No, not shocked...stricken, Tom thought. The other man sniffed hard, chin dipping and flat-ironed layers falling forward to partly obscure his face. He raised his free hand to scrub at the corner of one eye and as Tom began to panic, trying to pull his hand free, Bill's hand tightened painfully hard on his.

"Well, that's something, at least," Bill said, straightening his shoulders and giving Tom an oddly subdued smile.

"Bill?" Tom said uncertainly. It wasn't much, as far as declarations went, but it was farther than Tom had ever gone. Terror was still churning in his stomach, bringing the taste of his drink to the back of his throat.

"My accountant has been urging me to consider the real estate market in other states as an investment, considering the current conditions," Bill said, casting a glance at Tom through his lashes.

Tom blinked. "You have an accountant?" was all that he could dredge up in response to the non-sequitur.

"Yes, his name is Gustav," Bill replied, waving a hand as though to dismiss the subject as quickly as he'd brought it up. "So I'm thinking now might be a good time to invest in New York property? I heard the housing market has taken a dive."

Tom blinked again, then a slow smile took hold of his features. He squeezed down on Bill's hand and managed to say, "I know of a place you can stay, if you want. You know, while you're looking."

Bill was wearing a sly little smile as he turned his highball glass around. "I don't know..the rent might be a little steep..."

"Only if you're finding our sex to be arduous," Tom stated bluntly.

"I knew it!" Bill said with a fake gasp. "You sex maniac, Tom. You'd probably hold me captive and ravish me senseless for days on end." He arched a dark brow.

"That's assuming you had sense to begin with," Tom said with a snort.

Bill made a shocked exclamation and jumped off his barstool. He smacked at Tom with the hand he'd pulled free of their twined grasp, but that demure smile had made a reappearance. "You want to keep seeing me...?" He trailed off uncertainly, glancing down and away.

Tom dismounted from his barstool, certain he'd never felt more giddy and stupid, a quicksand-sinking sensation warning him he was putting himself in danger. Each time he wanted to open his mouth and say no, though, he recalled how miserable he had been the other day. That long morning when he'd thought he had ruined things with Bill, he had wondered what it took to become someone happy with his life.

The answer _was_ that simple; as obvious as it was scary. He had to take the risks that might lead to getting hurt.

"Yeah," he said at last, standing close to Bill. He lifted a hand to feather through streaks of red and platinum layered in through the darkness of Bill's hair. "I do. I mean...as long as you do."

Bill hooked his arm around Tom's neck, breathing hotly in his ear, "I can't think of anything I want more, right now."

Tom grinned, the exultation rising in his chest to a peak almost painful. He was leaning in to kiss Bill when someone nearby cleared their throat.

The bartender had slid the check for the drinks across the counter, and Tom wanted to roll his eyes and groan. He signed with a messy flourish and gathered Bill against his side.

"So, dinner?" Tom offered. Bill's interpretation of smart casual was a smoky grey turtleneck that hid the mark Tom had left on his neck, with an artfully tattered black vest over that, and skinny black jeans. They hadn't even discussed coordination, but Tom was wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt silk-screened with flashy silver graffiti-style patterns over slouching black jeans. Tom was looking forward to showing off the best-looking person in the room on his arm.

"Dinner," Bill confirmed, his arm going round Tom's waist. "Your table or mine?"

"Doesn't matter," Tom said, then raised his brows. "Will they let us sit together in arranged seating, or..."

"Let's find out," Bill declared. His hip bumped Tom's. "So, do I introduce you as my boyfriend, or my lover, or..." He glanced over at Tom and there was a faint infusion of red coloring his high cheekbones.

"Whatever you prefer," Tom said carelessly. He wondered what the unspoken third option might have been. In his head he'd begun to map out how things would go; he'd put in a call to Andreas to leak some internet rumors, have some people place 'anonymous' tips with Bravo, and when the first flood of outrage began to wane, they could set up some paparazzi photos of he and Bill out doing something innocuous like lunch together... God, he was looking at the long-term view. He didn't want to keep this a closeted romance.

"Brave of you," Bill murmured, and tightened the arm around Tom's waist.

Seating took some juggling by the maitre-d', who asked for both their stateroom numbers and seemed disconcerted when Bill asked that they be seated together, but it was managed. They were seated at Bill's table, with Michael ensconced at a two-top not far. Tom faced down three older couples, as he had the first night he'd made use of his own assigned seating, though now he had the buffer of Bill at his side.

"Here's another youngster!" cried an older man with a watery, unfocused gaze. "Thought this cruise was for us elderly folks."

A thin, long-faced woman beside him waved a hand at him in a silencing gesture. "Shush, Howard; you're embarrassing us."

"Bill, darling, who's your date this evening?" spoke up a beautiful older woman with her platinum-dyed hair pulled back in a sleek pompadour. She smiled over at Tom.

"This is Tom Trümper and we're on our honeymoon," Bill announced, leaning on Tom's arm rest and capturing his hand. His dark eyes sought Tom's, slyly daring him to deny the claim.

Tom simply grinned at Bill's cheerful escalation. From sex to seeing each other to the prospect of moving close to one another and now, apparently they were as good as married. If Bill thought Tom was going to flinch, he'd be kept waiting.

The announcement was greeted with a round of congratulations and well wishes and Bill blushed like a bride beside Tom, who wouldn't be induced to let go of Bill's hand for anything. They pored over the menus after a round of lightning introductions and Tom had a secure feeling that it didn't matter if he forgot someone's name, because Bill would surely remember it. Was this love? Sky-diving without a parachute, while still certain there was someone at his back?

"That's strange," Tom whispered into Bill's ear as the table settled into idle chatter while the older couples perused the menu. "I don't remember proposing."

"It was a beautiful ceremony, top deck at sunset, the captain performed the honors," Bill informed him, straight-faced. "You were soooo drunk." Then he dissolved into an impish grin.

"See," Tom began, breaking into a spontaneous grin, "that's why I lo--" He cut himself off as the waiter stepped up to the table to take their order.

The dinner menu was so tasty that Bill dithered over a choice of two different appetizers, so Tom urged him to order both and he'd pick at whatever Bill didn't feel like finishing. Bill greeted this suggestion with enthusiasm and nestled his foot against Tom's under the table. This was, Tom knew, the point at which he should feel smothered - frantic. The closest he'd ever been to a long-term relationship had been when Andreas had set him up with a model during awards season, and she had stuck with him for the red carpet exposure. None of her stuff had ever cluttered Tom's spare apartment and they'd had sex exactly twice, each time after Tom's band had won an award. He'd never had to deal with someone encroaching on his territory.

As he reached for Bill's knee beneath the table, Tom knew why this was different, even if he wasn't prepared to say it aloud.

"Billy, if you're married to this handsome young man, where was he the first night you ate at our table?" spoke up a heavy-jowled woman to Bill's right, her short fluffed-up hair dyed a flat unnatural shade of black.

Bill patted Tom's hand and reached for a piece of bread from the centrally-located basket, tearing it in half and putting part of it on Tom's plate. "Tom and I had a few difficulties to iron out," he said airily. He buttered his bread with a lavish hand and turned an impish look on Tom.

Tom seized up the inherent dare in Bill's challenging amber-brown eyes. "Yeah, I can be a stubborn jerk sometimes," he embroidered the lie. "I'm lucky Bill puts up with me." He laid his arm casually over the back of Bill's chair.

"Aren't you from Chicago?" the grey-mustached man directly across from Tom muttered into his water goblet. "Thought gay marriage wasn't legal there."

Bill stiffened beside him and Tom raised an unimpressed brow. "We got married in Vermont," Tom said coolly, stroking his fingers over Bill's far shoulder.

"That's right," Bill said brightly. "Tom bought a time share there."

Tom made a mental note to give Bill hell for this later. Not that he wasn't enjoying himself, weaving an entire tapestry of lies for people he'd never see again. He was getting the most enjoyment out of the way he and Bill played off each other.

"So, Tom, what do you do?" one of the gentlemen across the table spoke up.

"I'm in the music industry," Tom said evasively, glancing at Bill out of the corner of his eye. Now he was regretting not being more up front about it. If Bill was going to be with him - if they were going to make a go of it - there were certain obstacles he'd face that wouldn't otherwise be hurdles in a normal relationship. Once again he found himself wondering whether he was doing the right thing. This time, he drew the conclusion that he was too selfish _not_ to. He wanted Bill. Therefore, he'd do whatever it took.

"Tom's being modest," Bill averred. He bit delicately into his piece of bread, then continued after he'd swallowed. "He's quite a titan in the rock music field."

Tom glanced over to Bill quickly, wondering if Bill knew - or suspected - or whether he was adding to their lying game.

"Really; have we heard of you?" the platinum-haired pompadour asked, not seeming to realize she'd answered her own question if she was asking.

"No offense," Tom said, "but it's probably music that your grandkids listen to. Uh, or your kids." He winced even before Bill kicked his ankle.

He was saved, though, by the serving of the appetizer course. Bill hitched his chair to face Tom's by a few degrees and seemed to delight in hand-feeding him tidbits from the plates they were sharing. Tom, irked by the one man who'd questioned their hypothetical nuptials, took his time about plucking his bites from Bill's fingers with his lips.

"That's tasty," he said, referring to the brioche and goat cheese drizzled with a dot of garlic aioli that Bill had fed him. He licked at his lip ring and held Bill's gaze.

Bill smirked over at him, his inviting eyes implying that wasn't the only tasty thing Tom would enjoy that evening. "Crab?" he offered, tapping his fork against his plate.

"As long as it's not a character accusation," Tom murmured, raising a brow.

Bill laughed and fed him a forkful of crab cake.

The conversation had dwindled to murmurs of enjoyment as everyone cleared their plates. Second and main courses passed quickly and Tom sat back and enjoyed his food, the presence of Bill beside him, and listened to the others expounding on how enjoyable the cruise had been so far.

"How's your cruise been going, young men?" the motherly woman to Bill's right asked, leaning over to smile at both of them.

Tom smirked over at Bill only to find Bill smirking right back at him. He couldn't help the quick, reflexive poke of his tongue at his lip ring.

"Gertrude, you don't need to ask them that," the skinny, frazzled-looking man on the other side of her said, looking scandalized. "They're newlyweds."

"What?" black-haired Gertrude protested in an aggrieved tone. "I only wanted to know if they're having a good time--ohh."

"We're having a wonderful time, thank you," Bill responded with dignity. He patted Tom's knee, then squeezed a little higher than his knee.

It took all of Tom's meager self-control not to add, 'when we can be bothered to get out of bed.'

"Billy, dearie," said the skinny, long-faced woman across the table. "Didn't you say on the first night that you had dinner with us that you got your tickets from some elderly friends of yours who couldn't make the trip?"

"Yes," Bill said, and busied himself with the last bite of his prime rib.

"I'm stingy," Tom volunteered. "I'm saving up for a Lamborghini this Christmas. If he's good, I'll take him on a second honeymoon."

"Mm, Tomi, define good," Bill purred into his ear, leaning against the side of his chair.

"Oh, just...keep doing what you're doing," Tom said vaguely. He considered saying something tooth-rottingly sappy that would make the old men at the table cringe, such as how one couldn't improve on perfection, but Bill struck him as the kind of person to remember that comment forever and hold it over his head at regular intervals. Best not to go there.

When the busboy cleared plates and their waiter brought around dessert menus, Tom opted for coffee but decided he was full enough as it was.

"No dessert tonight," Bill decided, flashing a smoky look at Tom. "It's not too good to exercise on a full stomach."

"Oh, have you been up to the exercise facilities on the Lido Deck?" the squinting, watery-eyed man asked interestedly. "I hear they're state of the art."

Bill laughed, waving a hand. "I didn't bring a single pair of sneakers," he claimed.

The grey-haired woman with the pageboy cut flashed her husband a disgusted look. "He was talking about sex, Phil. God, you're dim-witted sometimes."

Phil peered dimly across the table. "Wait, Bill is a man?"

Bill held onto Tom's arm as though afraid he'd surge up to defend his honor. When Tom glanced over, he saw Bill's shoulders shaking with laughter as he averted his face. Tom bit his own lip and tried to look grave.

"We're leaving," the grey-haired woman announced, giving her husband another withering glare. "We have the cake party tonight at ten, anyhow, and the last thing Phil needs is eight desserts with his diabetes. Enjoy the rest of your cruise, everyone."

Tom wondered what the next step up from biting one's lip was – eating one's face? It sounded painful; he wasn't about to try it. "Maybe I should've ordered us some table wine," he murmured to Bill.

"No way, Tomi," Bill murmured back. "I want you sober enough to enjoy what we're going to do later."

Tom was ready to point out that it would take longer to come if they were both a little drunk as well as horny, but the grey-mustached man across the table from him was looking uncomfortable enough as it was. He almost wanted to tell the man it was okay; he'd thought he was heterosexual too before Bill had come along and destroyed the notion.

The couple on the other side of Bill excused themselves for the same reason; apparently there was a cake party on the Lido Deck at ten and it would go on until the ship left port. That left them facing the grey-mustached man and the platinum pompadour.

"So," the platinum pompadour said. "Is this your first cruise?"

Tom nodded, catching Bill's answering nod out of the corner of his eye.

"Really," the pompadour said in shocked tones. "At your age, both of you? How old are you, anyhow?"

"Twenty-eight," Bill answered, clipped like a bullet, and Tom glanced over at him. Bill's mouth was thin and his shoulders were unhappily tense. "Twenty-eight, forever."

The grey-mustached man laughed. "Come on, now, really, how old are you? Or how long have you been twenty-eight, rather?"

Tom shot back, "That's none of your business." He placed a protective arm over the back of Bill's chair again.

"Um..." The platinum pompadour giggled uneasily. "Well, what about you, Tom?"

Tom heaved a sigh and cast a trapped glance around the crowded dining room, because he didn't want to admit his age, either, but there was no real point in holding out. As he did, he caught sight of a line of staff tromping up the narrow aisle between tables, headed in his direction. Their table's waiter was in the forefront, holding a cake. "Oh, God."

"What?" Bill asked curiously, leaning over and chinning Tom's shoulder. He whimpered. "Oh, God."

At least they felt the same way about public ambush, Tom comforted himself, and tried to figure out who to blame for this – Andreas, Michael, maybe even Georg – when he realized that his birth date was on his boarding pass and had probably been entered into Holland's computers somewhere. He'd even heard someone getting a birthday song in the dining room the other night and wondered without the faintest hint of irony who the hell would go on a cruise for their birthday.

The wait staff formed a circle around the table from which there was no escape. As Tom watched in mounting horror, the candles were lit on the cake, which was placed on the table before him. At that point, the entire circle of people began clapping, swaying, and singing in unison, finishing up with a rousing, "Happy Birthday!"

Basically, Tom wanted to melt into the yielding embrace of his chair and die.

He inspected the candles on the cake and found that it was less than thirty, at least. Considerably less. It was a small consolation but he'd take it. As the waitstaff watched expectantly, he leaned forward and blew the candles out without further ado. _Please, only let me keep Bill in my life,_ he wished fervently. _Whatever it takes._

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he found Bill staring at him with a bemused expression.

"What?" Tom asked defensively. There was no way that Bill could have read his thoughts.

"You—" Bill started, then their heads jerked up as the birthday song began again.

Another cake had been produced. The staff were singing and clapping, still circled around their table without having moved a single step. As Tom sat wondering if they were broken or whether one of the boomers across from him was also having a birthday, their waiter stepped beside Bill and eased the second cake into position beside him. Now Tom was the one staring at Bill, as his lover leaned forward and blew out the candles on that cake.

"I don't get it," Tom said bluntly, looking from his cake to Bill's. They were identical, a pair of single-serving flourless chocolate cakes topped with an upper layer of glaze that was embossed with gold-leaf geometric designs.

"Well," Bill said, waving a hand and looking troubled, "I was going to guess that I'm so special they decided to sing the birthday song to me twice, but you blew those candles out, so..."

The grey-mustached man guffawed. "You don't even know when your birthdays are? They're putting us on, Doris. Come on, let's go get ourselves dessert up at that cake party."

The platinum pompadour looked confused, but got up and neatly folded her napkin. "Happy birthday," she told them both with a sincere smile.

Bill turned on Tom the moment the last couple was gone. "Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" he cried, smacking a beringed hand against Tom's shoulder.

"You didn't - ow! - you didn't ask," Tom said, defensive. "Besides, it's not exactly something I'm proud of. Haven't celebrated in years. What about you; why didn't you tell me?"

Bill ignored the question. "How old are you?" He demanded.

"Old enough to know better," Tom responded automatically, licking at his lip ring in a quick, nervous gesture.

The busboy came to clear plates and offer coffee. "Happy birthday," he said with a bright smile. "Brothers?"

"No!" Tom snapped, hearing the echo of Bill's denial beside him. "No, it's coincidence."

The man's face clouded. "Oh, sorry."

Tom scowled after him, twirling his unused dessert fork in his right hand. He looked over at Bill, who had produced a small hand mirror from some undisclosed location and was re-glossing his lips.

"You have my lips, Tomi," Bill told him in a subdued tone, snapping the mirror shut and stowing it away.

Tom barely managed to crack a smile. "They look better on you," he offered, leaning against Bill's arm rest. "Aren't you going to eat that?" He poked at Bill's cake with his fork, having left his own untouched.

"I'm not hungry," Bill said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hey," Tom said, low and worried. He touched Bill's elbow. "Hey, you had to have seen the similarity, yourself."

Bill shifted in his direction, still not meeting his eyes. "Yeah," he said at last, equally low-voiced. "Yeah, but...they say everyone has a doppelganger, right? I figured...it was either bad luck, or meant to be."

Tom tried to smile but it failed around the edges. "I can guess which one I am," he said, and pushed his chair away from the table.

"Tom...no," Bill exclaimed, reaching out to make a grab for him. His hand closed around Tom's wrist and Tom tried to shrug him off, but Bill was surprisingly wiry and wouldn't let Tom go.

"It doesn't matter to me," Tom said, hitching close to the table again. "Sure, there's some similarities, especially when you're not wearing makeup, but I don't give a damn. The only thing that matters is how I...how we...feel."

Bill nodded slowly, his dark eyes watchful.

"You make me feel good about myself," Tom concluded. He picked up his fork, stabbed defiantly into Bill's cake, and brought a bite to his lips. He added in an undertone around his mouthful, 'I haven't felt that way in a long time."

Bill seemed to melt beside him, relaxing into his chair and loosening his death grip on Tom's wrist. "Is it good?" he wanted to know. He pushed his chair close and rested his hand on Tom's knee again, body language no longer quite so tense and defensive.

Tom nodded, eyes half-closed in gustatory absorption. Right now, cake was edging Bill out in his affections by the slimmest of margins. "I think the topping is marzipan," he said, moaning a little in anticipation as he lofted another forkful to his mouth.

Bill leaned over and risked a fork to the lip, snatching the bite from Tom's raised fork. "Mmm."

"Hey," Tom said, indignant.

Bill leaned against his shoulder. "It's my cake," he said. "Eat your own."

Tom licked at his lip and nodded. "All right," he said. "Give me a kiss." He started to lean forward without waiting for an answer.

The split second hesitation that Tom saw in Bill's eyes made him angry - worse, scared - and he wanted to pull away, to knock his chair back from the table and get up and walk away from the conversation. Before he could, Bill eliminated the space between them and pressed against Tom, practically in his lap as he gave Tom a kiss of astounding passion. It went on and on and Bill's hand sank into the dreadlocks at his nape and Tom was cupping Bill's face between his hands like he was fragile blown glass. Bill sank his tongue into Tom's mouth and kissed him with such single-minded concentration that the room faded around them, and there was only Bill.

With a last nip for Tom's now-swollen bottom lip, Bill drew back enough to give Tom a glimpse of his flushed face and sparkling, arousal-dark eyes. "Let's go," Bill murmured.

"What about dessert?" Tom wanted to know, reflecting forlornly on that single delicious mouthful of chocolate bliss.

"I'll show you dessert," Bill informed him in a low and husky voice. He leaned forward, palmed Tom's crotch beneath his baggy jeans, and got to his feet. A few steps from the table he looked over his shoulder and crooked a single finger at Tom in a beckoning gesture.

Tom all but levitated out of his chair. Screw the cake. More to the point, the cake wouldn't screw him, so...

He hurried after Bill's sweet little jean-clad ass and left the abandoned twin birthday cakes behind them.

"Seriously, though, Tomi, how old are you?" Bill asked him, waiting for Tom at the mints and after-dinner morsels station outside the dining room. He slipped his arm into Tom's and they strolled up the hallway, past other couples and a few potted palm trees and a string quartet that was playing in a dimmed lounge beside the walk-through art gallery.

"You tell me," Tom said, arching a brow at Bill. "If you already know about my rock titan status, you ought to know my age..."

"Please, you expect me to pay attention to details like that?" Bill exclaimed, hip-checking him.

"You're way too fond of that move," Tom growled, grabbing at Bill's nearest belt-loop and hooking a finger into it. "Keep it up and you'll get spanked."

"I never should have said rock," Bill said thoughtfully. "Too unbelievable; I should have said hip-hop, instead."

"So you don't know," Tom concluded.

"No, but I will when you tell me," Bill said with a beatific smile.

Tom sighed and messed a hand through his dreadlocks. "Thirty, all right? I'm thirty today." He scanned Bill's face carefully for a reaction, but Bill had turned his head to look at a painting as they passed by the art. When his head swiveled back to Tom, he was biting his lip as though attempting to stifle a laugh. "Don't. Don't; if you laugh, I'll probably go hurl myself overboard."

"That's an extreme reaction," Bill observed, and hugged Tom's arm. "It's not the end of the world, you know."

"Yeah, but...thirty," Tom groaned, ready to rehash all of the anguish and mental trauma he'd been building up towards this day.

"If you imply to any one of the people on this boat that thirty is tantamount to near death, they will laugh in your face," Bill told him bluntly. "We each get a life, Tom. We live as long as we live - a lifetime. Are you really going to make such a big deal over numbers?"

Georg had been telling Tom that he was stupid in so many ways for weeks now, but no one had managed so effectively make Tom _feel_ like an idiot over the whole thing as Bill. "Well..." he trailed off uncertainly.

Bill leaned over to peck his cheek as they stopped by the elevators. "Besides," he said, "you've got stamina way better than some eighteen-year old with a huge cock."

Tom squeaked. " _I_ have a huge--" he began, and Bill laughed and shut him up by mashing their lips together.

"Mm-hmm," Bill said, making sultry eyes over his shoulder at Tom as he led him to the nearest available elevator cab. "So, birthday boy, what do you want for your present?"

Tom crowded Bill onto the elevator and pinned him to the far rail with his hips. "Well," he said, setting a hand to either side of him and leaning in close enough to enjoy the sight of Bill's eyelids fluttering mostly shut. He waited for the sound of the doors to close behind him. "I want to lick down your gorgeous throat and suck on your nipples until they're so hard you can't stand it. I want to tongue your nipple ring until you're grinding against me, panting in my ear. I want your legs wrapped around me while you open up around my dick..."

Bill moaned against his ear and worked his hips up against Tom, pressing their groins together.

"...and move inside you so good, hard and fast then slow, so slow," Tom whispered against Bill's ear. He flicked his tongue against Bill's earlobe and Bill whimpered, clinging fast to the back of Tom's shirt with tight-gripping fingers. "I'll push into you until you're begging me to come."

Bill nodded, moaned again, and pushed up against Tom. "We're going to have a long night," he said breathlessly. "I never beg."

Tom grinned and licked a fat stripe from the hinge of Bill's jaw down his neck. "We'll see, we'll see. At the very least, I'm going to have a hell of a good time trying to make you."


	10. Chapter 10

Tom awoke in the wreckage of the sheets of his king-sized bed with sunlight washing over his body and face. He batted at his face for a moment in idle irritation as he tried to figure why his face was so warm and the inside of his eyelids were painted in molten orange-gold colors when he was pretty sure he'd drawn the blinds shut days ago. Tom cracked an eye open as the night before returned to him in a jumbled mix of images and sense-memory; the way that Bill's skin had felt against his, the long, pale length of Bill in the moonlight after he'd thrown back the curtains and blinds, the way Tom had hovered over silvery-illuminated skin as Tom stroked his hands over Bill's face and hair and body and simply looked at him. They'd done it a second time – made love in the moonlight – and Bill had whispered something sweet and fervent against the side of his neck when they had fallen asleep together, bodies overlapping so completely that it was hard to tell where Bill began and Tom ended.

Bill's whispered confession had sounded like, _I don't want to let go, either._

Tom stretched and yawned, smoothing a hand over the rumpled, empty sheets beside him where Bill had been. He laced his hands behind his head and listened for the shower, or any of the small cues that would inform him of Bill's lingering presence in the cabin. Instead, he could tell by the absence of motion that the ship had weighed anchor again, and they'd arrived at the next port. Tom petted his morning erection with an absent hand and rolled over, then noticed that a note had been left tucked into the dent in Bill's pillow. He grasped it and unfolded it, scanning over it quickly, then more thoroughly for a second time.

_You look too cute when you're sleeping, so I couldn't wake you. I have things to do in town today, so meet me at 2 at the Laughing Dolphin for lunch? Try not to miss me too much. ♥, Bill_ 


Rolling over to smash his face against his own pillow with a groan, Tom tried not to get too excited over rating a heartmark. Cute? Bill thought he was _cute_? A high-pitched note thrummed through his ear-bones and Tom tried to figure out what it was, for a moment. Maybe it was his own quickened pulse; maybe it was the tune of being in love.

He snatched the note out of the pillow divot that Bill's head had left behind, moving it to the nightstand for safe-keeping, and set his own head on the pillow instead. With the mingled scent of Bill's hair products and skin surrounding him, Tom snaked a hand down his naked body, teased his cock to fullness, and stroked himself while thinking of Bill. His sinfully full mouth, his roving hands, his smoky bedroom eyes. He thought of Bill and the best birthday ever while he brought himself to climax, spilled over the sheets, and pitied whomever had the job of cleaning out his stateroom when he was gone. He and Bill had _trashed_ the bed yesterday.

Thinking about the night before and how many times they'd made each other come was making him nostalgic, so Tom squinted at the clock, decided it was about time to get up, and showered and went through the other preparations necessary to face the day. He ordered breakfast in his cabin to eat on the veranda, sparing a thought to wonder why Bill had gone without him, or at least hadn't waited to eat breakfast together, then dismissed the thought. They might be unofficially together now – neither of them had actually said it – but they were each their own people, and Tom thought he should appreciate the lack of being clingy, rather than feeling bereft. He retrieved the day's itinerary from the mail receptacle and scanned through it while he waited for his meal.

The trill of a notification startled Tom and he nearly dropped the folded paper in his hand, jerking his head up to fix a look of surprise on the desk across from his low couch. He hadn't heard that sound in days – in fact, he'd left his cell phone plugged into the wall charger, figuring he wouldn't need it or be able to use it until the trip was over, or nearly so. Tom hadn't brought his world-wide satellite phone, declaring himself firmly to be on vacation. He was pretty sure that Michael had one, so if there had been any sort of band emergency, god forbid, Michael would be able to relay any relevant news.

He got up to retrieve his phone, then let room service in at the knock on the door.

Installed in the deck chair where he and Bill had enjoyed themselves so thoroughly before, Tom scanned through e-mails, missed texts, and voicemails until the coffee was gone and he was looking down at an empty plate with bemusement. Nothing stood out for him; it was all the same old bullshit. Andreas was looking at their winter schedule and wanted Tom to call him back asap, so he knew whether they'd have to withdraw gracefully from the VMAs or if Tom would be able to perform. Mentally, Tom gave his manager the finger, and dialed Georg instead out of a childish perversity.

Georg picked up after four rings, sounding breathless and sleepy, making Tom remember there actually was a time difference. "Hey, Tom," he said, surprised. "Thought you'd be incommunicado at sea. So where are you now?"

Tom squinted at the blue waves nibbling at white beaches, and the quaint town with its white buildings, all hemmed in with vibrant green trees. "Virgin Islands, I think?" He rifled around for his itinerary and found it. Yep. They were leaving sometime fairly early tonight and had been anchored all morning, as far as he could tell. Tom had almost slept the day away.

"Oh yeah?" Georg said, sounding interested and more alert now. "How are they?"

"Not so very virgin," Tom said with a low laugh, more out of habit than anything else.

Georg chuckled along with him, then his voice lowered, as though he were trying to keep the conversation from someone else in the room. "How's the action – scoring with any locals? Or entertainment, or...hot, lonely cougars?"

"Sick," Tom said at once, screwing his face up in a frown.

"Hey, there's nothing sick about a sure thing, even if she's got a few extra miles!" Georg claimed.

Tom groaned and flipped a handful of dreadlocks over his shoulder. "I still think it's sick, and low. You know I won't help someone cheat." He'd found out that his step-father had been cheating on his mom, during her last few years. It was one thing Tom would never forget – that kind of betrayal was unforgivable, in his eyes.

"And you won't date, so no one can cheat on you," Georg finished with a laugh, then fell silent, expecting the usual vehement confirmation from Tom.

Tom pulled a sharp breath in through his nose and one hand went up to toy with his earlobe. "I..."

"You don't date," Georg echoed himself, questioning. "Tom?"

"Actually, I..."

"No shit!" Georg said explosively, and Tom had to hold the phone away from his ear. "Are you fucking kidding me, Trümper? Did you actually manage to pick up a hot chick to date on the love boat!?"

"It's not the love boat," Tom snapped defensively. "And...it's not a chick."

"I don't understand," Georg said. "MTF?"

"Uh, no," Tom said, briefly closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose and wondering why Georg was his friend.

"Hermaphrodite?" Georg ventured.

"Dude," Tom growled, annoyed.

"Well, what the fuck, Tom? Who are you dating?"

"His name is Bill," Tom said lamely, and winced at the dead air on the other side of the phone. He held it away from his ear again.

True to form, a loud burst of laughter crackled from the speaker. Georg whooped and cackled. After the laughter subsided to mirthful chuckles, Tom set the phone against his ear again and sighed.

"That's a good one, man," Georg said, and from the sound of his voice Tom knew that he was grinning broadly. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Seriously, I'm dating a man," Tom said, regretting the fact that he hadn't kept his phone on him, because at least then he could send Georg a snapshot of Bill. "Just Google Bill Kaulitz, okay? Then we'll see who's laughing."

"This is one hell of a set-up for a joke," Georg told him, and there were shifting and clicking noises on the other side of the line. "Hold on, stay with me. You're not roaming, are you?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Tom said, folding his napkin and tossing it onto the tray. "Yeah, look it up now, because I want to be on the phone with you when you find pics."

There was a moment of silence, then clicking and typing accompanied Georg's breathing on the line.

At last, there came a respectful, murmured, "Holy shit."

"You see?" Tom said, grinning. He could picture Bill so clearly in his mind's eye; that heart-shaped face, the soft cleft in his chin, the sweet slope of his nose that Tom had kissed last night before falling asleep...and those gorgeous, amber-brown eyes that had caught him before he'd ever admitted it.

"This is a stone fox," Georg stated. "Are you sure this is a man?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm certainly in a position to know," he said pointedly.

"How's the sex?" was the next inevitable, awed question.

Tom inhaled. "Fucking...better than anything I've ever had in my life," he responded without hesitation. "If I have to be gay to have sex this amazing, then I'm damned well going gay, Georg. Being with Bill is just...it's incredible."

"What makes it so amazing?" Georg pressed.

Tom snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said, tongue flicking against his lip ring in brief, fond reminiscence. "I've had more sex with Bill in the past few days than I've ever had with any one person, and it keeps getting better."

"Holy shit," Georg said again. "Am I really speaking to Tom Trümper, ladies' man?"

"Not anymore," Tom said, looking over the balcony railing at the city beyond. Bill was somewhere down there, shopping or picking up odds and ends or maybe even having a business meeting, if somehow it was a work errand he was engaged on, and Tom would be meeting him for lunch. Tom didn't even have room in his brain for women anymore.

"He must really be something," Georg observed. "I mean, I talked to you a few days ago and you were all pissed and wound up and pretty much on your way to getting hammered. Now you sound...well..."

"Happy?" Tom supplied. He watched the waves lapping over the shore, so far distant. There were people swimming in the pale cerulean blue, splashing through the shallows, lying on giant brightly-colored beach towels. He nibbled absently on his lip ring. "Yeah. It's been a long time."

"Well, good for you," Georg said after a moment. "I mean, yeah, it has been a long time. So, are we gonna get to meet him?"

"That's the plan," Tom confirmed, leaning back in his chair and stretching. He pulled his phone away to check the time. "Shit, man, I should get going. I have to get dressed and get into town and find the place we're meeting for lunch. Dunno when I'm going to have cell phone service again, so..."

"Did you call Andi?" Georg asked him.

"What?" Tom said loudly, holding the phone away from his ear. "—cutting out, Georg."

"Tom, you prick!" Georg said, his voice coming through perfectly clear.

"—otta go," Tom yelled, holding the phone further and mimicking the sound of a transmission cutting in. "Take it... --sy!"

"Give Andreas a call, jackass!" Georg counseled, then hung up on him first.

Tom grinned and went to plug his phone back in. He wished briefly that Bill had left his cell number along with the note, then shrugged. They would find each other. They'd shown a positive knack for it, over those first few days, until Tom couldn't avoid it anymore.

Whistling, he finished getting himself ready to face the day, remembering sunblock at the last minute and making a pass at his exposed skin, from face to ankles; grabbed his wallet and cash, and went to find Michael. Tom was pretty sure album sales hadn't made any sort of impressive dent in the U.S. Virgin Islands territory, but he knew Michael would insist on accompanying him, as he had the day before.

"Good morning, Mr. Trümper, " Michael said to him, once Tom was barely outside his door.

Tom startled, jumping in fright. "God!" he exclaimed aloud. "How do you do that? Do you have motion sensors on me, or something?"

Michael was standing halfway up the hall, hands clasped before him, mirror-like Terminator sunglasses firmly in place again. He raised his blond brows. "Mr. Trümper, you follow pretty much the same schedule every day," he replied.

"Oh," Tom said, crestfallen that the explanation was so mundane. Then again, he ought to be happy it wasn't a chip under his skin, after all. He stretched again, reveling in the glow of relaxed muscles and the residual pleasure that thinking of Bill had brought him. "It is a good morning, isn't it?"

"I'm glad you think so, sir. What's the plan for today?"

Tom shrugged. "Bring a book, I guess. We'll bum around some shops to kill some time, then we're meeting Bill at a pub or bar or whatever in the city – I'm sure some taxi driver knows where it is."

Michael nodded to him and they set off.

With Michael at his back and his own sunglasses firmly in place, Tom was recalling what it felt like to be a rock star. At least, in theory. They exited the gangway to a mostly-empty concrete pier, no screaming fans in sight. There were a few cruise employees offering towels, water, or manning hand sanitizer for those returning from the city. A few couples strolled up and down the pier at leisurely paces, arriving or departing. The pier segued into a checkpoint manned by a couple of dark-skinned locals in port security uniforms, leaning up to one side of an archway that proclaimed "Welcome to the U.S. Virgin Islands," and they both gave Tom chin lifts of acknowledgment as he passed through.

"Nice dreads," the man called out appreciatively, and Tom gave him a nod.

Shops packed a plaza outside the pier, giving Tom the immediate impression that the place was a tourist trap. He window-gazed, but kept moving along, absent-mindedly scanning the thin crowds of people for Bill's tall, skinny body. Outside the plaza, rows of taxi buses waited to take people to and from the city proper. Tom asked around and discovered that the downtown area was no more than a mile and a half, checked his watch, made sure Michael was okay with it, and they set out on foot. Not because he could particularly stand to save big on taxi money, but because he wanted to explore.

Of course, there was always the possibility of bumping into Bill.

"Did you call Mr. Strauss?" Michael's voice inquired behind them, when they'd gone several paces from the plaza.

Tom tipped up an aggravated gaze to the vastness of the blue sky. "I didn't bring my phone," he said innocently. "Let me guess – he called you?"

"You can borrow my phone," Michael offered.

Tom groaned aloud this time. "Whatever Andreas wants, it will keep," he proclaimed. "Right now I'm on vacation. _Va-ca-tion._ One that he sent me on, I might add."

"But, the VMA performance--" Michael hedged.

"Will be fine," Tom said firmly. "If he doesn't hear from me, he _won't_ withdraw our performance, and that's what he wants anyhow, so it's all good."

"If you're sure..." Michael said behind him, and Tom didn't even need to see his face to know the man was conflicted again.

"One hundred percent sure," Tom assured him.

Tom stuck his hands into his pockets as he ambled along, watching passing traffic and the ebb of pedestrian foot traffic, locals calling cheery greetings to one another, shopping and carrying bagsful of groceries and kids running up the concrete sidewalks. The cabs and cars zooming back and forth made Tom glad he'd walked instead of entrusting himself to one of those maniacs. He tried to figure out why he was so resentful of Andreas, despite his Bill-buoyed mood and the general aura of relaxation that had him in better spirits.

Part of it was Andreas's grating personality, Tom thought, and knew he himself was in part responsible for the contrary ways that Andreas had developed in handling him over the past decade. The other bit, though, was association. Tom no longer played guitar for love, he did it for money. And an entirely different set of baggage, of responsibilities and dealing with management politics and compromising art for the sake of commercialism came along with that. It had been wearing him down for a long time, but now he was ready to admit it.

Yet he couldn't turn his back on all of it. Music was beyond an occupation - and Tom could readily admit he'd probably be useless at anything else. At his age, with no other skills to speak of, his options were pretty limited. Go into producing, maybe, but with his people skills... Anyhow, he wasn't ready to throw in the towel. He still loved playing guitar as much as he had the first time he'd nailed a killer riff.

While he was busy soul-searching, the long road that led into town opened up into a main causeway. Concrete road gave way to pinkish cobblestones. To his right, the sidewalk dwindled to nothing and a luxuriant jungle of greenery screened the beach from view. To his right, the town slanted up into the low hills, rambling narrow streets packed with whitewashed buildings.

He asked Michael for the time. They still had leisure to wander, so Tom crossed the street and asked a cab driver lounging beside his vehicle for directions. The man pinched his cigarette from his lip with thumb and forefinger, poured a stream of smoke downwind, and waved a thin hand up the hill, giving Tom the names of exotic causeways and gesturing to illustrate right and left turns.

"Thanks," Tom said, and tipped the man without being asked. His round face creased in a bright, toothy smile.

"You have a good day, sir!"

"I intend to," Tom replied, flicking the brim of his New Era cap. Thirty was definitely not the end of the world.

Despite the detailed directions, Tom wandered around peering into cavernous shops and looking through storefronts. Every door was open and every single person had a smile. And, of course, an invitation to stop and buy, take advantage of good deals. Tom ended up going into one little shop to grab a Coke and came out with a small black shirt with a skull and bones and the legend "I am the booty" spelled out in glittery rhinestones.

He hoped that Bill would approve.

The Laughing Dolphin was a small bar tucked away in a far corner of town. From the street it looked like a shabby dive beyond a crumbling stone archway, half hidden behind a circle of young palm trees huddled around a small fountain built out of knobbly chunks of quartz and huge white stones. Tom ducked into the dim, smoke-wreathed interior, scanning the few people here and there for Bill. There were a couple of older pairs, none of whom he recognized, and a fat, profusely sweating man seated at the bar.

Tom found an empty table and fiddled with the menu, opening the leather cover and flipping through the yellowed, creased pages. It proclaimed they had the best bar snacks that the island had to offer. He watched Michael settle into a table across the room, pulling out his book, and considered offering him a seat across from him, then recognized it would be awkward to dismiss him when Bill arrived.

He ordered beer and one of the recommended bar snacks and settled back to wait.

And wait.

A giant novelty clock on one wall had miniature bottles of liquor, all different types and brands, marking off the hours on its face. It was half past Kahlua when Tom started to get concerned. It wouldn't surprise Tom to find Bill fashionably late, or held up, or socializing with new friends to the point of losing track of time, but half an hour was pushing it.

Tom began to fidget. He ordered another drink, declined more food. He asked the waitress whether there was another Laughing Dolphin in town.

"Yes sir, we the only one," the woman assured him with a broad wink. "You need something?"

"No, I...no," Tom said absently, giving the clock another look. It was nearly Bacardi time, according to the clock. He didn't know whether it was like Bill to be so late, but it concerned him. "I'm meeting someone here. Have you seen a black-haired man, about my height, skinny, incredibly gorgeous?"

The waiter shook his head without hesitation. "No sir, no one like that come in here today."

"All right." Tom subsided into his chair and drank his rum and coke down. He glared up at the novelty clock as it edged past the Bacardi bottle. He tapped his fingers over the table, drummed them over his leg, and glanced up at the door every other second or so, expecting to see Bill highlighted in the yellow glare that outlined the open doorway. He'd be laughing, breathless with apologies and perhaps from running to meet him and Tom would get up, grab him into a spin maybe because he'd be so relieved Bill was there, back in his arms.

Maybe he'd gotten the time wrong. Maybe _Bill_ had gotten the time wrong.

Maybe something had happened to Bill. That thought was a stab to the cortex and Tom sat bolt upright, eyes widening. Surely it wasn't possible. Why would anyone hurt Bill?

The thought, _because_ he's so beautiful, flitted through his mind briefly and Tom wavered between getting up to go look for Bill and staying right where he was, where Bill knew he'd be. He gestured Michael over, at last.

"What time does the ship leave?" Tom asked him. It had been on the day's itinerary, but he wanted to be sure.

"We need to return to the New Amsterdam by four-thirty," Michael replied. "And that would be cutting it close, sir. I'd recommend we leave a little early to miss the last-minute crush."

Tom swore and eyed the clock again. It was nearly half past three. Where the hell was Bill?

"What time was Mr. Kaulitz meeting you?" Michael prompted, a trace of worry crossing his features, as well.

"I'm pretty sure he said two, in his note," Tom said, reaching up to tug on the brim of his cap, frustrated. "Maybe...he got held up somewhere?" Mentally he was picturing Bill being held at gunpoint.

"Or left the ship without his watch," Michael offered, but he was also frowning. "Sir, do you want me to..." He stopped.

"Would you go look for him?" Tom said desperately. "I'll stay right here. I won't move from this table until you come back. But I want to be here, in case he does...I mean, for when he turns up."

Michael nodded, then dug something out of his pocket and set his phone on the table. "Here you go, sir," he said. "In case you need it."

Tom nodded and took it between his hands, spinning it idly around on the varnished, somewhat gritty surface of the bar tabletop.

He was gone, and left Tom counting down the minutes. It was closing toward two hours since Bill was supposed to meet him with every second and Tom rifled through his recollection of the night before for any hint that he'd done something wrong.

All he could think of, the only thing that his mind was full of, was the way that Bill's hands had scrabbled and clung at his shoulders as they rocked together, and the way his voice had hoarsely murmured, "More, Tomi, more." And Tom had given him more, until they were both spent and satisfied. Bill had purred into his ear, after, and Tom had stroked his back and drifted off realizing that now he knew what lovemaking meant. He'd been so lost in Bill's pleasure that his own had taken second place.

The possibility that he was being stood up occurred when the Absolut of four o'clock loomed near.

Michael returned with a hangdog expression. "Sir..." he began.

"Just a little longer," Tom snapped, but he could already hear cab drivers yelling "New Amsterdam! Last call for New Amsterdam!" outside the door.

"Sir," Michael repeated. "We really have to go."

Tom nodded dully. "What if something happened--" he began.

"The ship won't leave port until everyone is on board," Michael said helpfully. "I'm sure there's a crossed wire somewhere. Maybe he's waiting in a different bar, wondering if you're standing him up."

Tom winced.

"Sorry," Michael added.

"No, it's okay, I probably deserve it," Tom said, waving it off and getting reluctantly to his feet with a last glance to the clock. He'd been waiting for two hours. The one thing he knew he didn't deserve _was_ Bill himself. He'd done nothing to earn him, after all.

Even as he left the bar, he kept expecting to see Bill running up the street, waving madly and babbling a wild explanation as soon as he was within range. It didn't happen. Tom cast a last hopeful glance up the street as he and Michael boarded the shuttle cab.

He scanned the streets. The shuttle stopped three times, picking up people headed for the New Amsterdam, but none of them were Bill and so Tom paid them little mind.

In stark contrast to earlier, when Tom had strolled down a nearly empty concrete pier, it was packed when he and Michael returned to the place where they needed to board. They queued up twice - first at the port checkpoint, to present their stateroom cards to port security, then at the gangway which was backlogged with people going through the ship's scanners and running purchases through the conveyer belt x-ray machine.

Again, Tom kept his head above the jostling crowd and looked for Bill. He was nowhere in sight. The rising panic spilled over when he presented his stateroom card to the New Amsterdam security and his card was held under the scanner.

"Has Bill Kaulitz boarded?" he burst out. The man looked over to him and gave him a firm, professional grimace.

"I couldn't tell you that, sir," he replied.

"He's a tall guy, young, about my age and height, really pretty--"

"Sir, please keep moving, to avoid holding up the line," the security man told him.

"Well, can you at least tell him Tom Trümper is looking..."

Tom cut off when Michael's hand closed around his elbow.

"He can't," Michael said, his deep voice full of sympathy.

Tom shook his head and stumbled around a massive heap of what looked like luggage but was, in fact, jumbled piles of purchases, all of them tagged with last names and stateroom numbers. There was a crowd of chattering elderly couples waiting for the elevators and Tom cast one despairing look at them and took the stairs.

His cabin was empty, full of light that sparked and swirled with dust-motes. The bed linen was fresh and crisply tucked onto the bed, undisturbed as though the night before had never been. Even the pillows looked new, plump and fluffed and devoid of Bill's individual scent. Tom rummaged around until he found Bill's note from that morning, proof that he'd been there.

He hadn't misread it. Bill had asked Tom to meet him at the Laughing Dolphin at two.

Stomach churning with sick worry, Tom reached for the house phone to call the office and attempt to report a missing person. The blare of his cell phone from across the room made his head lift and Tom scrambled to reach it. Even if it wasn't Bill, there was a chance it was Michael with news of Bill. His chest was so tight he couldn't breathe.

"Hello," Tom said, snatching his phone up and hitting the answer call button without even looking at the display.

"Having a good time?" Andreas's caustic tone cut across Tom in all the wrong ways.

"Not right this minute, no," Tom growled back. "Fuck, Andreas, you have the worst timing in the history of management."

"I'm sorry, are you getting laid?" Andreas's false penitence flicked raw over Tom's already-heightened nerves.

"Not right at the moment, no," Tom said, and dropped into a chair. He twitched in startlement when the blare of the ship's horns provided notice to all latecomers that final boarding was underway.

"I need an answer--" Andreas began.

"On whether I'll be fit for the VMAs?" Tom filled in the blank.

"Yes," Andreas said. "Look, if you need counseling..."

"Stuff it," Tom told him, passing a ragged hand over his dreadlocks. The only therapy he needed was Bill, provided he hadn't somehow lost him again. "I can do the VMAs, it's no problem. No more bitch-fits onstage."

"Can I get that in writing?" Andreas said warily.

Tom laughed curtly. "Don't tell me you're not recording this conversation," he said.

"Come on, Tom; who do you think I am, Nixon? All right, all right. How _are_ you enjoying your vacation?" Andreas inquired, and sounded as though he were genuinely interested.

"There have been ups and downs," Tom hedged. He looked out toward the scintillating, pale blue bay and wished he'd woken the way he had the day before, curled around Bill as though he'd never let go, nose pressed to his nape. "I...I met someone." Dark hair, the glint of a promising smile, the most alluring eyes he'd ever been subjected to. And his body, god, Bill's sweet, sexy little body.

"Really," Andreas said, rather unsurprised. "Contract worker, or..."

"No, another guest," Tom replied.

Andreas yelped. "Jesus, Tom, if you have an affair with an older, married woman..."

"Oh, fuck off," Tom said in annoyance. "You know I don't do that; I'm not going to be a party to some cheating, backstabbing two-timer's affair." He stood and moved from the cabin to the outdoor veranda. He leaned over the railing and held his phone to his ear, looking around the side, but he couldn't see Bill's veranda in any case – they all had privacy screens in between them.

"Tell me how you really feel," Andreas said with a laugh.

Tom grimaced. He had a feeling Andreas was going to like this even less. "No, he's...he's on the cruise as sort of an accident, a pair of boomer friends gifted him with the tickets."

" _He!?_ " Andreas repeated, in tones both startled and disbelieving. "Tom, am I hearing this right? Are you dating a man?"

Tom looked over the railing down at the water. At first, he thought the water was moving unusually fast, then he realized that it was the ship, gliding out of port. He cursed under his breath; Bill had to be aboard by now, he _had_ to. Tom considered the stalkerish expedient of setting up camp outside Bill's cabin.

"Yeah," he replied belatedly. "And he's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Is this a phase?" Andreas said, and it was obvious from the worry in his tone that he was wondering how to spin this new development. "Or, oh shit, is this a mid-life crisis thing?"

"Don't," Tom said sharply. "Don't do that." It was demeaning to Bill, and his own choice in the matter.

"Well, God, Tom, what am I supposed to think about this?" Andreas shot back. "You've been pretty demonstrative in your commitment to heterosexuality before now, and today, suddenly, I'm supposed to accept that you've found some...some male significant other?"

"Yeah, it's about like that," Tom said, and turned his head at a faint sound from his cabin. Had that been a knock? "I have to go, I think I heard something."

"No way, you can't pull that kind of shit and then hang up," Andreas told him. "I need more information; I need to know how to manage this..."

"It's Bill Kaulitz, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him," Tom said bluntly. _If he'll let me._ That had definitely been a knock, and as he shut the sliding door from inside he could hear full-on pounding on his cabin door. "There, you have all the information you need to manage this. Bye, Andi." He held down the power button on his phone, turning it off as well as ending the call, and went to answer his door.

Bill reeled over the threshold, messy black hair everywhere, and Tom had to jump back to avoid the unexpected swing of a wildly-splashing bottle of golden rum. It whistled through the place where his shoulder had been.

"Jesus, Bill!" Tom exclaimed, but his overriding instinct was relief. Bill was here, safe and alive, and everything else could be worked out.

"Twins," Bill hiccuped, stumbling into the room. The door clicked shut behind him and he looked around with a hunted expression. An overpowering aroma of alcohol rose off him in waves. He sniffed hard, as though about to cry, then looked at Tom with wide, haunted eyes.

"It's not even five yet and you're fully loaded," Tom teased him, trying to take the half-empty bottle from him, disturbed by the implications if Bill had been drinking rum straight from the bottle. How much, and over what period of time?

"It's happy hour somewhere," Bill claimed, weaving past the entryway into the cabin and keeping his hand wrapped very tightly around the neck of his bottle. Tom gave up after two attempts to pry it free.

"And are you happy?" Tom prompted gently. Bill's face was flushed, his lower lip swollen; it might have had sexual associations for Tom if Bill's makeup wasn't streaking around his eyes, which were reddened and miserable.

"N-no," Bill wailed, crumpling into his arms. He sobbed against Tom's shoulder. "No, I'm so not happy, right now."

Tom folded his arms around Bill tightly, cradling him against his body and keeping him upright. He reached up to stroke Bill's hair while Bill sniffled against his neck. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"Not your babe," Bill said against his neck, still sounding miserable. "I can't be your babe."

"Wh-what?" Tom faltered. He sucked in a breath and tried, hopefully, "I can call you something else..."

"Twins," Bill cried, rousing from Tom's shoulder and making a swing at him with the bottle of rum. "Twins, Tomi, twins!"

"What are you babbling about? Shit, Bill!" Tom exclaimed, dodging Bill's clumsy swings. He seized it as Bill collapsed onto the couch and this time managed to work it free of Bill's iron grip. He set it someplace remote enough to be inaccessible to Bill in his current condition, and joined him on the couch. "God, why'd you get so drunk? Why did you stand me up? I missed you..." He gathered the leaning tower of Bill against his side and stroked down his back, settling his hand low on Bill's ass.

Bill squeaked, flailed, and hit out at him with his fists this time.

"Ow! What the fuck!"

"We're twins, you jackass!"

Time slowed to a crawl. Tom stared at Bill's flushed, angry, sincere, utterly drunk face. "What?" Tom said, and started to laugh.

"It's not funny!" Bill cried, lashing out and hitting him again.

"That's silly," Tom said, hitching closer on the couch and trying to pull Bill nearer to him. "I think I'd know if I had a _twin_."

"It's not," Bill said, slapping at his hands.

"You're German..." Tom began, shaking his head a little.

"I was born here," Bill said stubbornly. "Then my father separated from my mother, and returned to Germany for the first five years of my life before going back to Chicago."

Tom stared at him, gnawing on his lip. "Bill, it's impossible," he tried again. "Who...who told you all this? Your parents?"

Bill shook his head. "I never knew my mother, and my father and I aren't speaking," he said. He shifted on the couch until his head rested along the back and his eyes were wet. Tom wanted to reach over and comfort him, but apparently he wasn't allowed. "I called my aunt. She told me that I was born with a twin, and when my parents separated, my mother took the older one, and my father took me. I always kind of wondered why my father took me at all, instead of just leaving me with my mother..." He trailed off and a tear spilled down the side of his face.

"Bill...no. No, don't," Tom begged, leaning in close and wiping that tear away with his thumb. He was encouraged when Bill let him. "Don't do this. If you don't want to be with me, you can just tell me; I can take it--"

Bill sat bolt upright and glared at him, black hair sticking up in all directions, ruffled as a cat threatened with water. "I'm not trying to break up with you, Tom! I'm telling you, we're twins!"

"It's not possible," Tom insisted. "Sure, we look similar..."

"Practically fucking identical," Bill interrupted sardonically. "And my aunt told me that my twin and I were born with a shared placenta, by the way."

"That's gross," Tom said with a wince. "And a coincidence."

"We have the same birthday," Bill continued.

"You're two years younger than me!" Tom exclaimed.

Bill gave him sad eyes. "Oh, Tom, that was a lie. I only wish I could be twenty-eight forever. I'm thirty, same as you. Born September 1st."

"Coincidence," Tom repeated uneasily.

"My long lost twin's name is Tomas," Bill pressed, folding his arms and giving Tom a pointed look. He spoiled it by turning his head to the side and burping.

"That's pretty...weird," Tom admitted. "But it's still within the realm of possibility. Come on, Bill. There's how many billions of people in the world?"

"You have my nose, my lips, and my dick," Bill continued stubbornly.

"What? I do not!" Tom yelped, indignant now. "Mine is bigger. Yours is...yours is..."

"A pretty good size," Bill sniffed. "And you're full of shit." He jumped on Tom and before Tom could even put up much of a struggle, he was on his back on the couch as Bill pantsed him. Bill was tugging down his underwear and shoving his own jeans down with an impatient hand and Tom was suddenly, staggeringly erect.

"God, Bill," Tom groaned, uneasy and aroused and worried but overall convinced that he couldn't let go of Bill, ever. He reached up to fasten his hands to Bill's abruptly-naked hips and Bill let him.

"We're the same," Bill whispered, and started to cry.

"Bill," Tom exclaimed, sitting up and dumping Bill off his thighs. Bill hiccuped and cried harder, tear-tracks cutting through the layered greys and blacks of muted shadow that surrounded his eyes, leaving messy glistening trails. Tom pulled him into his arms and held him, pressing soft little kisses to Bill's temple, to his cheekbone, scattering them across his face as Bill wept and turned his face up into Tom's attentions like a flower gravitating into the light. "Don't. Don't cry, please; I love you."

Bill sobbed outright and threw his arms around Tom, settling them around his waist. He squeezed the breath out of Tom and turned his face into Tom's mouth until their lips connected.

Heat flared between them as their mouths collided hard. Bill's teeth cut his lip and Tom accepted the pain; swallowed Bill's small, urgent noise and caressed the side of his face as Bill kissed him with pliant, dreamy insistence. Their tongues tangled and Bill crawled into his lap as though he had every intention to stay there.

 _See_ , Tom wanted to say in Bill's ear, _see how ridiculous it is; we're not twins, we can't be._ This was how they were meant to be.

Bill pulled his mouth from Tom's and trailed kisses down his neck. He snuffled and rested his head on Tom's shoulder.

Tom stroked down the smooth skin of Bill's hip and found him soft, unaroused. He sighed and kissed Bill's smudged cheekbone. "Come on, Bill," he said quietly, making a face at the alcohol breath pouring off him. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Bill's arms tightened around him. "No funny business," he said woefully. "Tomi, will you still love me if we're not having sex?"

Tom's heart clenched. "It's too late for me," he said. He pulled Bill against him and stroked his hair, contemplating the easiest way to get Bill across the room and tucked - chastely - into bed. "I already do."


	11. Chapter 11

The hall was so long, seemingly endless, but in the distance Tom could see Bill waving at him. He was silhouetted with so much light Tom could barely see him, it was mostly the outline of him, but he was there and it was Bill, so Tom picked up his pace. He walked faster, then he jogged. He ran, but the hallway wasn't getting any shorter. "Bill!" he called out, and Bill simply kept waving, smiling.

Tom ran flat-out, pushing himself until his lungs heaved and his eyes stung with sweat. He came to the end of the hallway with a sudden jolt but there was no Bill any longer. There was a door, plain and featureless, with a knob handle. He turned it and went through.

He stumbled into a low, cramped room that smelled of sickness and the sickly sweet of aromatherapy candles left burning for days. Simone's frail head moved restlessly over her pillow and Tom found himself staring into his mother's waxy face, skin stretched taut over the bones of her face, her sunken eyes still bright.

"I'm sorry," Simone said, and the pain pierced Tom's chest more sharply than if someone had shoved knives into him. "I'm sorry, Tom, I'm so sorry."

As he had all those years before, Tom flung himself across the room and he was on his knees beside her, clinging to her hands that had no strength to squeeze him back. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he told her fiercely. "Mom..."

"I'm sorry, Tom, I should have told you..." Her voice faded. He knew, with despairing intensity, that she was gone. Just like before, he knelt beside her bed and squeezed her hand as the last breath left her.

A trapped sob welled up inside and Tom pushed himself up from the bedside to close his mother's eyes for her. Instead, he found himself looking up into Bill's beautiful face, as his lover leaned across the bed to press Simone's eyelids down.

Bill said to him, without meeting his eyes, "It's okay, Tom. It's not your fault. You never knew."

Tom startled, flailing in a sweaty nest of sheets for a moment before he realized he was awake, in his bed. A figure stirred beside him and he began to relax, his heart still tripping hard with the frantic associations stirred in him by the dream. Tom moved his head across the pillow and opened his eyes, looking up at the low ceiling above with a frown. The dream had been vivid, as though Tom hadn't woken from a dream but a memory, something that could have happened the day before.

He started to sit up and Bill made a soft, discontented noise beside him, rolling in bed and putting an arm over Tom's stomach.

Tom lay still as he pieced together the events of the night before, and Bill's breath whistled through his nose as he slept on beside him. Last night he had tucked Bill into his bed after prying the half-empty bottle of rum out of his hands, stroking over his face and shoulder until the tears were no longer pouring silently from his eyes. Bill had grasped a handful of Tom's shirt, anchoring him in place until sleep had loosened his grip. Tom had ordered dinner to his cabin, not willing to leave Bill when he was in such a state. It would be an awful thing, Tom knew, simply to find out one had a missing twin; but to think that it was your lover...?

He'd crawled in beside Bill shortly after, and Bill had roused wide enough to mumble that he was sorry. Tom had pushed his face close to Bill's and told him that he had nothing to be sorry for. Bill's eyes, even in the fading light, had glinted with such heartbreak that Tom wanted to take him into his arms and insist that everything was okay. 'It's not true,' Tom had said, and Bill had simply shaken his head and buried his head against Tom's neck, taking a handful of his dreads and latching onto them like it was everything that meant safety to him.

Tom supposed that was the reason for the dream – in her last days, Simone's rambling words had often been that exact apology to Tom, telling him that she was sorry, so sorry.

It had never occurred to him to ask _why_ she was sorry. Tom had only wanted to reassure her that it was okay.

A sharp intake of breath beside him let Tom know that Bill was awake as the arm tightened over his middle. Bill pushed up onto one elbow, raking a hand through his dark hair, rubbing at one corner of his eye and smearing makeup over the skin there.

"Hey," Bill said, his voice raspy. His hand formed lazy circles over Tom's stomach.

Encouraged, Tom replied, "Hey."

Bill said nothing, only kept stroking Tom's belly with a light touch.

Tom lolled his head to the side to eye the bedside clock. He was a little worried to move, to trigger whatever weird convictions had gripped Bill the night before. He wasn't sure how to address something so irrational. It had flared up out of nowhere.

"It's so early," Tom said, rubbing at his eyes and blinking in the dim light that filtered through the seaward-facing windows like soft fog. "Where are we?"

Bill shifted on the bed beside him, lifting himself up. He must have gotten up at some point during the night; he was dressed now in a pair of clinging black boxers and the small black 'I Am the Booty' t-shirt that Tom had gotten for him at the port. "At sea again," he said quietly, and set a hand on Tom's arm uncertainly, running fingernails over the skin without scratching. "Is this...is this okay?"

Tom looked up at him with a small frown. "Of course it's okay," he said, and gasped as Bill moved over him, seating himself on Tom's thighs. "Are _you_ okay? Last night, you--"

A pair of fingers pressed hard over Tom's lips, silencing him. Bill was regarding him with an inscrutable expression. _Don't say it,_ Bill was telling him with that touch, and that was more than all right with Tom. In the thin wash of morning light he could see the similarities again, in the shape of Bill's lips and nose and brow, but he dismissed the conclusion that Bill had reached. His feelings toward Bill were anything but brotherly.

"Come here," Tom murmured, stroking up and down Bill's sides.

Bill sucked a breath in as though he'd say something. His eyes glimmered as he looked down at Tom for a moment, then he lowered himself down until their chests were pressing and they were nose to nose. "Hey," Bill said again, his voice huskier than before. He nudged Tom's nose with his own.

Tom said nothing, only tipped his nose to the side and pressed his lips up to Bill's, slow and certain.

Bill gasped quietly, then kissed back, his lips closing over Tom's bottom lip and tugging his mouth open. The soft play of their lips together went on and on; every time Tom opened his mouth, pressing up to fit his mouth more firmly to Bill's, Bill would draw back a little, teasingly, running his wet bottom lip against Tom's. Once Tom's head subsided to the pillow, Bill connected their mouths again, rubbing his plush lips against Tom's as he brought them together in a complete kiss once more. They kissed and Bill began to rock against him, the smallest motions of his hips, thighs tightening against Tom's sides. As their mouths met again and again, Bill made soft, anxious noises against Tom's parted lips. Tom skimmed his hands down from Bill's waist and settled on his hips, petting him above his boxers, not trying to rush anything but letting him know he was there.

"Tom," Bill mumbled, kissing his bottom lip, then at last he ran the tip of his tongue over Tom's lip, tracing the line of the upper lip.

Tom gasped and closed his eyes, angling his face up in mute encouragement.

Bill didn't disappoint; he covered Tom's mouth with his own and, with a little moan, slipped his tongue inside, stroking against Tom's.

Tom had never known that he could get hard simply from being kissed, but Bill managed it. Teasing him with lips and tongue, hands doing nothing more than resting on Tom's shoulders, Bill was giving Tom the most slow, thorough licking of his life. His dick responded by tightening painfully hard. He gripped Bill's hips harder, pushing up against him and whimpering against Bill's tongue.

"Ahh," Bill sighed, pulling his mouth from Tom's with one last swipe against his bottom lip, lingering to dent teeth against his lip ring.

"Bill?" Tom said, half worried, half incredibly horny. He ran his thumbs up and down Bill's hipbones. "What do you want me to do?"

Bill bit down on his reddened bottom lip, glancing at Tom through his lashes. His makeup was smudged, almost gone, and his hair was a messy black halo around his beautiful face. He leaned over Tom again, making him groan as the bulge in the front of his boxers pressed against Tom's stomach. When he sat up again, he had the tube of lubricant in his hand that he'd fetched from his own cabin the other day, claiming it was better than the lotion they'd used for their first two times. Tom certainly wasn't going to argue.

"Finger me?" Bill asked him, and bit down on his lip again as though worried Tom would refuse him.

Tom began to nod urgently, trying to sit up and failing, as Bill was still slung over his stomach. One corner of Bill's mouth twisted up and Bill positioned himself onto his side, riding his black t-shirt up with one hand and stroking his own hairless belly.

"God," Tom uttered, shifting over and pressing a short, hard kiss to Bill's mouth, first. It took all of his restraint not to roll Bill under him, pin him down and smother him with kisses as he ground their hips together. Instead, he knelt back and peeled Bill's boxers down, looking up in alarm at first as Bill began to whimper, but when he realized it was arousal and not distress, he ran a finger up Bill's hard cock from base to tip, taking a good look now. It was similar to his, yeah, but a dick was a dick, right? He took hold of Bill's foreskin with thumb and finger and eased it down, paying attention to every tensed thigh muscle, every catch of breath that told him of Bill's arousal. He had the lube in one hand and he uncapped it with his thumb, moving his hand up and down Bill's hard cock with slow, firm strokes.

"Yes...yes," Bill was whimpering softly, pushing his hips up to ease into Tom's grip and get himself more friction.

Tom let go long enough to squeeze lube out, squishing it down below Bill's perfectly smooth balls, making him squeal a little and spread his legs.

Bill made a complaining noise deep in his throat but stayed where Tom put him, on his back with one leg hiked over Tom's shoulder as Tom braced on one elbow. He snaked his hand over and around Bill's waist to pet his hip and dropped his face near Bill's crotch, inhaling the musky maleness of his scent as he pressed the index finger of his other hand into the soft give of Bill's ass.

"Ahh," Bill groaned, muscles going taut where Tom was draped over him, but Tom had him immobilized.

His finger slid easily into Bill's body, far more easily than his cock, and Tom played with that, pushing his finger in and out, probing around inside for what he knew had to be up in there.

"Deeper," Bill whispered, his voice hoarse with lust.

Tom nodded, pulling his finger out, squirting more lube out, and returning with two fingers. He was mesmerized again by the way they sank in so easily. Bill tried to arch up beneath him as Tom pushed them in and out, searching and twisting, curving them down into Bill's ass and then crooking up.

Bill grimaced, panted, and told him, "A little to the right." His cock jerked, hard to its fullest, so close to Tom's mouth.

Dipping his head, Tom rubbed his fingers deep inside of Bill and laid a kiss on his cock.

"Tom!" Bill moaned, sounding surprised. His cock twitched again.

Encouraged, Tom kissed the hard flesh, running his lips along the length, back and forth. He pressed his fingers more firmly into Bill, in and out, drawing out a little bit and pushing them in deeply, the tips of his fingers brushing up against the inner wall.

"Oh, ohh," Bill moaned. "Close, Tomi..."

Tom licked and nuzzled from the hairless base of Bill's shaft along the underside of his cock again. As he did that, he pressed his fingers in again and bumped against something inside. It wrung a moan from Bill and Tom did it again, rubbing his fingers around the delicate inner wall.

"Yes," Bill hissed, and his legs flexed as he tried to rock up against Tom.

Brow furrowing, Tom pulled out and pushed his fingers in again, aiming for that spot. Bill panted and strained against Tom's weight and cried out at last, trying to move beneath him. Securely trapped, he reached a hand out for Tom's hair, sharp fingernails teasing at Tom's scalp. Rapt at the way his fingers went in and out, Tom finger-fucked him until Bill sobbed under him, clutching a handful of Tom's dreadlocks and demanding for him to stop, stop or he'd come.

"That's fine," Tom said absently, nuzzling his mouth at Bill's hard cock again. He closed his lips over the tip, ever so carefully, and licked around the rim, pushing foreskin down with his tongue.

"Ah...ahh, Tom, stop!" Bill cried, arching under him, his back bowing. Both hands went to Tom's head, moving over his temples, his cheeks. "Come inside me. Don't you want to come in me?"

Tom pulled his mouth from the tip of Bill's dick. It wasn't bad, at all; he wasn't going to proclaim it his favorite sex act ever, but he could see getting into it for Bill's pleasure, making him come that way. He didn't know if he'd be able to swallow, but he supposed that was the sort of thing one found out the moment it happened.

Then Bill's words registered, and he lifted his head eagerly. "Yeah?" he said, turning his head to kiss Bill's thigh.

Bill had his teeth fastened over his lower lip again and he nodded, slowly. He reached down and took hold of both his legs behind the hinge of his knees, lifting his legs up and folding them toward his chest, exposing himself to Tom. The black t-shirt had been pushed high up his chest, almost to his collarbones, and Tom could tell that Bill had been playing with his own nipples; they were perked red with pinch marks. Tom's eyes went down the lean body down the soft ripple of stomach down past the hard cock, and he looked at his own fingers with Bill's body contracted hotly around them.

"Now," Bill added, and tightened around Tom's fingers.

Tom nodded, tonguing at his piercing, and couldn't resist thrusting his fingers in again, striving for Bill's spot.

Bill cried out, loud and wanton, and thrashed his head against the pillow. "Tom!" he shouted, nearly kicking Tom in the face.

"Okay," Tom decided, ducking out of the way and leaning back on his heels. He pulled his fingers from Bill's body, wincing a little at the sloppy sound of lube and flesh and friction and the way that went straight to his cock. He was hard and impossibly ready and he wanted to climb right onto Bill. He wanted to grab his cock and slick it and push it right in, but he had to hunt for a condom first.

"Where..." Tom began, glancing at the nightstand and finding it bare.

"They fell over the foot of the bed the other night," Bill said helpfully, moaning a little and rotating his hips. He was fisting his cock, his spread legs showing Tom his everything.

Tom dove for the foot of the bed. He shed his boxers along the way; he'd stripped down the night before and it was the only thing he was wearing, even his dreadlocks loose around his face. He came back up with a single condom in its wrapper.

"It's the last one," he said, crawling back to where Bill was laying, one leg swaying, hand moving over his cock in slow pulls.

"I know," Bill said quietly, then opened his eyes. "Hmm?"

Tom knelt with his knees pressing up against Bill's ass, staring down at the beautiful length of Bill sprawled out for him. "Bill?" he said uncertainly.

"Put it on," Bill ordered, licking at his lip. He moved his hips up and moaned, his hand going a little faster over his cock.

Tom didn't even remember getting the condom unwrapped or rolled down over his dick; he barely got through slicking a palmful of lube over himself. He knew the radiant heat of Bill, pressed against his dick and ready to take him in as he looked down at that flushed, beautiful face.

"I love you," he told Bill, gripping him tightly by the hips.

Bill looked pained and ecstatic; he arched his back and pushed himself up, rubbing his heel over Tom's back to urge him on. "Please," Bill whispered back, and bit his lip.

Tom nodded and pushed in. He groaned as he fed his cock into Bill's tight heat and Bill whispered low, throaty encouragements, drawing his nails down over Tom's chest and stomach and making him want to shove right in, but he wasn't making that mistake again. He braced himself above Bill and guided his cock inside until they were pressed fully together, his balls against Bill's butt, both of them sweating. He reached for Bill's cock and stroked him back to hardness as they lay there together.

"Want to kiss you," Tom murmured.

Bill pushed up, bumping his cock against Tom's belly. "Have to move first," he said, his voice strained.

Tom nodded, biting down on his lip as he pulled back far enough to get sucked back in. "Bill," he began, wanting to ask how much, how fast; he only knew he needed more, he needed a lot, maybe more than Bill was willing to give.

"Fuck me," Bill groaned, pushing up again, tightening his calves over Tom's shoulders.

Tom's response was a groan, too, low and ripped from the depths of him as he surged back and forward, meeting Bill's ass with a soft understated slap. Once he got started he couldn't stop. He did it again and again, pulling out and thrusting back in, crowding Bill closer to the headboard to get into him deeper, faster. Unstoppable pressure was building up in his dick and the only answer was to get inside Bill, thrust into the yielding heat of him and connect them in the most direct way possible. Bill lifted up against him and clung with his legs, reaching up to stroke his hands over Tom's loose swaying hair. He cupped Tom's cheeks, traced his thumbs along Tom's jaw, and kept their eyes connected too.

He leaned down for a kiss and Bill moaned, writhing under him and licking into his mouth so slow and tenderly that Tom's thrusts gentled. He moved back and forth above Bill, into Bill, trying to understand why his heart was drawing tighter and tighter in his chest like a string on the verge of snapping. Bill's hands caressed his face again and he pressed their foreheads together as Tom all but bent him in half to take his mouth.

"Tom, Tom," Bill said against his lips, rolling his hips up, trying to force Tom's dick deeper into him. Tom pulled his face back to look at him as he resumed thrusting, pulling out just enough to sink himself back in, moving in quick urgent flutters. He wanted to stay inside Bill; he wanted to lose himself forever.

All the while Bill held onto him, cried out below him as Tom pushed in and out and in again, and he held Tom's face in his hands, looking up at him with such naked emotion he looked as though he might cry.

Bill was making love to him as though he was saying goodbye.

"Bill," Tom said desperately, pulling mostly out, sitting back on his heels. "Bill, I..."

"Don't stop," Bill moaned, bending his legs up and back and wrapping them around Tom's waist, briefly. He got himself up on his elbows and thrust his own ass down, rubbing himself over Tom's cock. He scooted back and pulled Tom's cock out of himself, then got up as Tom sat there dumbly on his heels.

Bill swarmed into his lap, pushing Tom back down onto the bed with his weight. Tom knelt back, sitting on his heels as Bill hooked an arm around Tom's neck, straddled his thighs, and sat. His eyes were half-lidded and he lowered his head to rub their mouths together as Tom's cock bumped his hole then Bill's tight ass took him in, inch by inch. Bill wasn't careful or slow about it, either. He screwed himself down and Tom shouted into his mouth, thrusting up and grabbing at Bill's waist, making him take more of his dick. Belatedly it occurred to him that he might hurt Bill, until Bill began chanting "yes, yes," as he raised and lowered himself on Tom's cock.

Tom groaned loud and long, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Bill's sweaty back as Bill bounced on his cock. Bill grabbed his dreadlocks in his other hand, swaying in and out of range as he took Tom's cock inside him, moving fast enough that Tom's balls tightened. He was on the verge of coming.

"Come for me," Bill murmured, as though reading his mind. He sat down on Tom's cock and pulsed there with quick, sexy flicks of his hips, grinding in his lap as he leaned in for a kiss. He sucked on Tom's tongue and thumbed at one of his nipples and, as he rolled his hips, Tom groaned and seized Bill's waist hard enough to bruise as he pushed into him and fucked directly up into Bill's hot, tight ass.

He came with a stuttering wail as Bill kissed his mouth and stroked at his dreadlocks. Bill kept moving, pushing Tom's dick up into him, clamping down to milk the height of his climax and then with a gasp, he was coming too. Tom wrapped his arms around Bill and pulled their bodies taut together, rubbing Bill's cock against his stomach.

"Good?" Tom wanted to know, dipping his fingers down past Bill's tailbone, tracing over the thin fragile skin where Bill was stretched around the base of his cock.

Bill dropped his head to Tom's shoulder and nodded silently. He was panting as though overwhelmed.

Tom winced as they moved stiffly together, still joined and over-sensitive. He eased them to the bed and started to disengage his softening cock but Bill clung to him, wrapping his leg over Tom's waist and both arms fast around his neck. He pushed his face into Tom's neck and refused to be moved.

"No, stay in me," Bill urged and at last Tom nodded.

He drifted off to sleep with Bill around him, his scent perfuming the very air they breathed together, and knew he'd never been so loved.

Tom woke later, hours later by the count of the red digital display beside his bed, and passed a hand over the empty sheets beside him in bed. His sleep this time had been dreamless; it was as though there'd been no lapse in time between waking and what seemed like moments before, gasping and thrusting up into Bill. He stretched out on his stomach and pressed his nose to Bill's pillow, and came face to face with another note.

_Tom, We can't be together anymore. Because I love you, too. Your little brother, Bill_ 


It took a long time for the words to make sense and when they resolved into some semblance of coherency, Tom's first reaction was denial. He twisted into a sitting position in the mussed sheets, looking this way and that for Bill's things, listening for the sound of the shower around the corner. There was nothing but the gentle sway of the room as the ship lurched side to side in the water. Tom flicked the note away from himself and climbed out of bed, pulling boxers on, prepared with the first surge of anger to charge down the hall mostly naked, bang a fist on Bill's door, and demand an explanation for the impossible.

He got up to get out of bed and fell, snared by a loop of sheet around his calf. Swearing, he stumbled around his cabin and managed boxers and a sock and leaned up against the door. He looked down at himself, still covered in Bill's dried come, and let his head thunk against the door.

"Is this really happening?" he asked himself aloud, and knocked his head against the door a few more times, wishing he could drive sense into Bill's stubborn head so easily.

He shook himself, slapped his face a few times, then pulled off his boxers to go take a shower.

Life was a little more reasonable after coffee and breakfast. Tom tied his dreadlocks back, fetched the day's itinerary from the mail receptacle, and discovered that not only was dinner formal again, but there was a pool party up on the Lido Deck that started at nine. He had a massage and an appointment at the day spa's hair salon, and first and foremost, he had to go find Bill.

He threw on a t-shirt and baggy shorts over a pair of flip flops, shoved Bill's note into his pocket, and went to find his lover.

Michael stood out in the hallway, arms crossed.

"How long have you been out here?" Tom wondered aloud, scratching at one ear and letting the door swing shut beside him.

Michael pushed his mirrored glasses up and met Tom's eyes with a frown. "Not long, sir. Is there a problem?"

Tom shook his head quickly. If Michael hadn't seen Bill, Tom wasn't going to call his attention to it. He strode up the hallway and made no comment as Michael fell into step behind him.

"Wait here," Tom said quietly, once they had rounded the corner. He wanted to have a private conversation with Bill, but considering the circumstances, he didn't know how things would go – or what Bill might say even with Tom out in the hallway.

Michael frowned again, but folded his arms and made like a statue.

Tom glanced up and down the hallway furtively, as though he were on a stealth mission, as he approached Bill's door. He gave it a few quick discreet taps. There was a moment of silence, then Tom could hear the soft thuds of footfalls approaching the door.

More silence followed.

At last, a quiet voice said, "Go away, Tom."

Tom set his fist against the door, furrowing his brow at the peephole. "Come on, Bill. Open the door, this isn't...you can't write something like that and expect me to let this go."

"We can't...we can't be together," Bill said through the door, sniffing heavily.

Tom leaned hard against the door. "We are not brothers!" he said, fierce and sotto voce, keeping it down so that the sound wouldn't travel up the hall to Michael. "So...stop, just...stop this."

"I'm telling you that's why we have to stop!" Bill responded, his voice rising thin and high.

"Bill!" Tom hissed, banging his fist against the door once, sharply. There was a little thunk on the other side of the door, as though Bill had jumped and perhaps hit his head. "Look, if you don't want to be with me, just...just say it. But don't do this."

"It's not that I don't want to be with you!" Bill cried, and the little thunk repeated. "I want to, I do. But we can't."

"Because we look a little bit alike...?" Tom trailed off, not getting it.

"Because we're twins!" Bill returned, his voice low as though he, too, were afraid to say it too loudly.

"No, we're not," Tom said.

Bill made an exasperated noise. "It's useless even talking to you," he said. "Go _away_ , Tom. We can't."

"But...we just did," Tom said, bewildered.

"It was the last time," Bill told him. "You'd better go."

"No," Tom said, and pounded the door with his clenched fist. "No, _no!_ I'm not going anywhere, Bill. You're going to have to come out sooner or later. And when you do, I'm going to be right here, and we're going to talk about this until we have it worked out."

Bill made a noise on the other side of the door that sounded either irritated or despairing. His head thunked against the door again, but he said nothing more.

Tom glared at the cabin door and planted himself across from it.

He stood with his arms crossed, for a while. It didn't take long for him to begin to fidget. He checked his watch, scratched at his scalp and flipped stray dreadlocks off his neck. The weight of his hair dragged at him, annoyed him to the point where he shoved it savagely over his shoulder and wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. He kept his eyes on the peephole of Bill's door as though to say, 'what now?' if Bill were to look through it.

Tom leaned against the wall as he waited. "I'm not leaving you," he told the door. And it was true. This time, like everyone else in his life, Bill had left him first, but Tom refused to accept the reason.

He set his back to the wall and slid down it into a sitting position eventually, bracing his arms against his knees with a sigh. He'd finally found what he wasn't willing to let go, and now somehow it was all screwed up.

"Mr. Trümper," a voice said down the hall.

"Not now, Michael," Tom said to his knees, staring at Bill's cabin door.

"Mr. Trümper...your appointment?"

Tom's head lifted in surprise. Was it already that time? He glanced at his watch again. "Fuck," he muttered. He shook his head. He didn't care if he missed his goddamn massage, if Bill wasn't speaking to him. "So what."

"Tom," Michael spoke up, making Tom jerk his head up and stare at his bodyguard. "You should go. Give him the space he needs right now, okay?"

Tom began to frown, nostrils flaring, then he had to acknowledge the point. Bill wasn't speaking to him right now, so he should give him time to cool down and try to talk sense into him later.

Maybe they'd moved too fast, the thought occurred, as Tom got up from the floor and dusted off the seat of his shorts. He gave Michael a reluctant nod and they moved toward the elevators together.

Camila's pronouncement for that day was that Tom's tension had returned with a vengeance. In fact, he didn't need a masseuse to tell him that. She patted his shoulders and advised him to relax, in passing.

His hair appointment was next. As he was seated in the chair and the stylist took the tie out of his hair, she let his dreadlocks fall in a soft tumble around his face. Tom looked into the mirror and saw traces of Bill, as he furrowed his brow and bit down on his lower lip. He scrunched his face up and looked into his own eyes. He saw Tom, with those dreadlocks swinging wild around his face, and it made him pent up and frustrated, trapped in his own skin.

If Bill didn't want to be with Tom anymore, then...

"What are we having done today?" the stylist asked him, running her hands over the crown of his head, petting his dreadlocks and trailing her fingers down over the length of them until she reached the ends. "These are so long, you must have been growing them forever. Wash and a wax today?"

Tom met her eyes in the mirror. "Cut them off," he said.

If Bill didn't want to be with Tom anymore, then Tom would become someone else.


	12. Chapter 12

Light sparked off every available surface, from the shine of the bar tops polished to mirror sheen to the glint of the metal railings that wrapped around the hot tubs and long, shallow pools crowded with bodies. The retractable canopy overarching the pool room on the Lido Deck had been cranked open, letting in the steamy night air and offering a view of pinprick stars flung across the black far above. Lights had been strung around the canopy, wrapped around pillars that flanked the individual cabana nooks. There were people everywhere, couples circulating near the bar, dancing to each side of the long pool. Even the drinks had LED lights – almost everyone was circulating with a plastic highball in hand that flashed with green, yellow, and blue lights on a constant cycle. The pool party was in full swing and Tom was glued to the bar as though his life depended on it, though he'd been nursing the same rum and coke for an hour and the ice had diluted into water.

Every so often, Tom would run a hand up to his hair in an automatic gesture, trying to figure out why his head felt so weightless. He'd gotten his hair cropped short, not completely shorn but all of the dreadlocks were gone. The stylist had deep-conditioned what was left and run her fingers over the short hair – lack of hair, more like – as he stared at his exposed face. She'd suggested extensions, or simply growing it out.

"I'll have to think about it," he had replied, and retreated, taking his bagged, clipped locks – they were never hitting eBay, not if he could help it.

He'd returned to Bill's room, knocking and waiting and knocking again. There had been no response, not even movement within the cabin that he could hear when he set his ear to the door. Either Bill really was gone, or he was sitting or lying in the cabin somewhere, not responding to Tom's knock.

"Bill?" he had called, setting his head against the door. "Please."

_Please answer, please talk to me, please don't do this._

Bill had said it was useless to talk to him, though.

After about an hour of waiting, and still no Bill to show for it, Tom had gone back to his room to sulk.

He had stayed in his room throughout the formal dinner, ordering a sandwich and raiding the mini-bar instead of doing anything social, anything in public. He called Bill's cabin later in the evening, but no one picked up – by that point, he had to assume Bill was either shutting out everyone, or he'd gone to dinner alone. He pictured Bill going downstairs to open seating, rather than back to his place with those three other couples that thought he was married.

Married to Tom.

There had been nothing good on the ship's handful of television channels. Tom wasn't getting through to Bill, wasn't doing himself any favors sitting around and moping, and he was discovering rapidly that he really had nothing better to do with himself. He could get on his laptop, hook up to the ship's wireless, but he couldn't think of anything that the internet was good for besides porn, and he wasn't interested in that, for a change. He'd had the best sex of his life that morning, and it had been to tell him goodbye. So he'd have to do without, for a little while.

Tom had thrown on a pair of long swim trunks and a tank top after recalling that the ship's itinerary had promised a pool party. At least he could watch other people have fun, he theorized, and drink his woes away.

Everyone _was_ having fun at the party, and Tom was drinking. Not much, though, and Michael was keeping a watchful eye on him from the other end of the bar. Everything had lost its luster and once upon a time, the answer would have been to get hammered. He didn't think any answers would find him at the bottom of a highball glass, he didn't need the liquid courage, and he was still hoping half-heartedly that he'd find Bill somewhere. If he did, he'd need to be clear-headed enough to give chase.

Somehow he had a feeling that Bill wasn't going to make it easy for him.

The party was full of couples. It was the feature of the cruise, after all. One thing that Tom noticed, though, as he kept his ass glued to the barstool – a highly fanciful metal creation that had been sculpted to resemble a large fish balanced on its head and fins, and Tom was sitting on its splayed-out tail – was the happiness, the contentment, on all of those faces. He looked around and paid attention for a change, trying to see what Bill saw, maybe; simply looking, without imposing his own ideas on them. There were couples walking hand in hand; couples dancing, their arms yoked around each other; couples standing side by side, a hand touching their partner's shoulder or waist or smoothing along an arm or plane of shoulder blade.

After a while, Tom drained the last of his drink and decided he'd made a mistake. He had left the emptiness of his cabin because he'd thought there was too much solitude, but now he was even more alone. All around him, there were people who had gotten together to stay, to make a life together.

He got up to make the walk past the pool to the far side, toward the fore of the ship and the set of stairs on the other side. There was a lounge two decks up and Tom was sure it would be mostly empty, with the pool party so packed with happy people.

As he passed around the far side of the pool, Tom scanned absently over the heads and shoulders of those present, laughing and splashing around so merrily. He wished he was one of those people; at least, if he was in the pool with Bill... He stiffened on the spot. Bill could have been conjured by his thoughts. He was in the pool, his black hair teased around his face, his eyes dark pits of smoky shadow. He was crowded up against one corner of the deep end, which came to his sternum, and a blocky, dark-haired man, not as tall as Bill but solidly built, had him boxed in. Bill was laughing but he had his face averted. His mouth was turned up but his eyes weren't engaged.

It was only that – recognizing the laughter wasn't genuine, the smile wasn't real – that prevented Tom from being riveted to the spot from sheer hurt. Bill turned aside his knocks and calls all day, only to turn up at the pool party? With a twinge, Tom realized _he_ was at the pool party...but Bill looked as though he was here to have fun, and there was all the difference.

Bill was pushing out a hand against the man's chest, face still turned away, and the man leaned in, one hand gripping the lip of the pool and keeping Bill fenced in. He was saying something lost in the general noise of the crowd.

Tom began to stride for the deep end, making his way over the wet tile. As he got closer he was hit with Bill's laughter, wild and loud and more than a little drunk. He grimaced.

The man leaned closer, and Bill pushed both his hands against a solid chest. He was shaking his head. Abruptly, the man reached for a bottle off to the side, green and long-necked, covered in champagne foil. He lifted it high and tipped it over Bill's face.

"Shit," Tom said, and picked up his pace, kicking off his sandals as he went.

Bill was struggling now, twisting his face this way and that as the man poured champagne over his face and neck. It was coursing over him, going through his hair and over the planes of his face. Bill held up a hand to shield himself from the spray and the man grabbed it, pulling it toward his mouth.

Tom glared around the packed and jostling pool. There were couples all around, crammed in elbow to elbow, but they only had eyes for each other. No one saw what was happening to Bill, except for him.

He jumped into the deep end without a second thought. Cries went up all around him as the backsplash from his jump exploded everywhere. Tom ignored them, wading determinedly toward Bill. The closer he got, the more he could hear Bill sputtering and choking under the impromptu champagne bath. He tapped the man's shoulder, hard.

"Get the fuck off him," Tom growled.

As the dark-haired man swung around, looking shocked, Tom took advantage to lash his hand out and seize the bottle, gripping the man's hand and forcing it away from Bill's face. Bill lurched back against the corner and began to cough. He sank down in the water, head dipping back for an instant as though going into a swoon.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Tom continued furiously, then recognized Bill's dinner escort from those first two nights.

"Oh, shit," the man said, recognized Tom in turn. He shoved the mostly-empty champagne bottle to the edge of the pool and backed away.

"Get out of here; go!" Tom cried. "Before I find the cruise director and tell her what an ass you've been, again."

"He's a fucking cocktease, he deserved it!" the man asserted, but he turned at the dark look on Tom's face. His impression of flight was spoiled somewhat by the way he had to waddle through the mass of people.

"Sonuvabitch," Tom swore under his breath. He wanted to report the man anyhow. He was sure Bill had to know his name.

Bill. Tom inhaled to steady his nerves and turned toward Bill.

The other man was huddled at the corner of the deep end, sniffling and coughing.

"Ah, God, Bill, you're a mess," Tom said, drawing near to him and putting a hand to his shoulder, hesitant over his reception. "You've got to stop getting drunk and going off with strange men."

"Tomi," Bill cried, launching himself right for Tom and draping himself around his neck like a millstone. "Tom, Tomi, you came for me." He clung like a limpet, his face wet with champagne and water, his eyeliner streaking down his cheeks like black tears.

"'Course I came," Tom muttered, securing an arm tightly around Bill. He stroked over Bill's wet hair, which was plastered to his face and neck, straggling in damp strands everywhere. He wiped at the trails of dark eye makeup, rubbing it off Bill's face with a gentle thumb. "You're here."

Bill's hands patted over his shoulders and upper chest. "You jumped in the pool for me...you're still wearing your clothes."

"Just my shirt," Tom said, and pulled away. Bill squeaked and began to shake his head, but Tom pulled away only far enough to peel his tank top over his head and toss it away, to the side of the pool. As he turned back to Bill, he noticed the flare in Bill's eyes, the way his posture warmed and softened, and found himself with an armful of Bill again. He rocked back with an oomph and held Bill against his body, leaning against the lip of the pool to brace himself. "You do want me." He stroked a hand through Bill's hair again.

"Of course...of course I want you!" Bill sputtered, drawing away again to smack at Tom's chest. His eyes went hectically wide. "Tom! Tom, what did you do to your hair!?"

"Cut it off," Tom said, dipping his chin to look down at the water lapping around their chests. "I don't...I don't want to look like you."

"Tom," Bill murmured, low and stricken. His nails raked softly at Tom's nape and he moved in close again, pressing their foreheads together. "Tom, you already do."

Tom shook his head stubbornly. "Bill...if you still want me..."

"I do," Bill whispered, patting his damp hands against Tom's cheeks, skimming them up and smoothing his fingers through the short hair past Tom's temples.

"Then we should be together," Tom said, tightening his arms around Bill. Their chests pressed together and Bill gasped softly, tilting his face as though asking for a kiss. His eyes were open, his lips parted. "Why can't we be together? Shouldn't it be that simple?"

"You _know_ why," Bill began.

"No," Tom said. He pulled his arms from around Bill's waist, moving his hands from Bill's back to his face. He took Bill's face in his hands and stared into his eyes, really looked, locking onto Bill's amber-brown eyes that were dark with low lighting and hopefully arousal. "No, I don't accept that. I won't. I'm not going to let you go, Bill."

"Tomi," Bill whispered, his voice trembling on the edge of tears although his eyes shimmered clear. "I..." He blinked, and burrowed against Tom's shoulder again, wrapping his arms around Tom tightly.

"Come here," Tom whispered, stroking over Bill's wet, bare back. "Come here, it's okay."

"We're twins," Bill said against his neck, sounding miserable.

"We're not," Tom shot back, holding Bill closer, as though that would make the words go away, the repetition of something he didn't want to hear. He refused to hear it. "We're _not_ , Bill – give me proof. Can you give me any sort of real, actual proof? You _can't_ , because we're not--"

Bill shook his head slowly, stirring his damp hair over Tom's skin. "N-no..." he began. He pulled away and bit down on his lip, looking over at Tom through his eyelashes. He combed his hair back from his face with both hands and simply looked at him, uncertainty and something else, beyond desire or arousal.

The shock of it hit Tom like a punch low to his gut. Bill's hair was slicked back, his makeup was all but gone. The only thing to concentrate on was his face. Without the makeup, without the gloss, he was more handsome than gorgeous now, and the resemblance was unavoidable. _We look like twins_ , was the first impact, followed by the second, more devastating one, _I love him._

"I can't lose you," Tom said aloud, pleading. It was the logical conclusion of that thought.

Bill began to shake his head but he wasn't pulling away, not anymore. He laced his fingers at Tom's nape and looked down, opening his mouth, closing it, biting his lip, forming fragments of words that never went anywhere before he finally sputtered to a halt. At last, he said, low-voiced, "Tomi...I can't." His hands gripped tight at Tom's neck, so much so that his fingernails scratched Tom's neck.

"You can't...be with me?" Tom thought he might not be getting enough air. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. " _Because_ you love me? Bill, how well were you doing today, without me?"

Bill set the heel of his hand against Tom's shoulder and started shaking his head again. "Terrible," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "You know it was terrible; it was awful after I left you. I was so miserable I had to get drunk and stupid."

"How'd that work out for you?" Tom said, not sarcastic so much as weary. He wanted this to be over, he wanted to pick Bill up and sweep them both back to his cabin. He wanted to lie in stillness with Bill, wrapped up with nothing more in the world than their two heartbeats slowing to synchronicity.

Bill's fingers gripped his shoulder, hard. "You know how that worked out; you saw. You were there for the end of it." He tipped his head down, cheeks pinking. "I was on my way to getting drowned in champagne, and that's not as fun as it sounds. And you jumped to the wrong conclusion, Tom. I can't... I can't..." He lowered his head even further and his nails dug into Tom's skin.

"Tell me," Tom said. He dipped his head close, leaning in toward Bill again. He stroked his hands over Bill's back again and settled them on his waist, above the band of his swim trunks.

"I can't stay away from you," Bill said, or confessed, to Tom's collarbones. "I don't want to. I'm not...I'm not any good for anything."

Tom squeezed his hands over Bill's cool skin beneath the water. "Then what _was_ today about?" The sting of that farewell note still loomed large.

"Tom, I had to...I had to clear my head, to get away from you and think. I thought it would be best--" Bill began. His dark eyes were pleading.

"Anything that takes you away from me is not the best option," Tom interrupted flatly, though he pressed his hands flat against Bill's back, pulling them closer together as the water curled and sloshed around their chests. They were wedged into the far corner of the pool, ignored by the other people that splashed and drifted so nearby. They might as well have had the pool to themselves. "It's not an option at all, as far as I'm concerned."

Bill looked at him, his eyes roving up and over Tom's cropped-short hair, and his face crumbled. His eyes were too bright, but not a single tear fell. "I can see that," he whispered. "Your poor hair."

Tom shrugged uncomfortably, aware it wasn't exactly a committed response to his declaration. "It grows back. I can't replace _you._ " It was too late for him, he'd already realized.

"Tom..." Bill keened softly against his shoulder. "Oh, I'm drunk, I'm still so drunk. I can't do this here, but we need to...we should..."

"...talk about it? Yeah," Tom agreed. "Come on. Let's go to my room? Unless you want to go to yours." Whatever made Bill comfortable; whatever he needed. There was only one thing Tom wouldn't allow – he wasn't going to let either of them walk away from this conversation.

He got Bill hoisted out of the pool by main force, careful not to scrape his lover's legs against the concrete lip as he lifted him out of the water. He grabbed a towel from a convenient stack nearby and dropped it over Bill's wet head, toweling him off until he squeaked protest and batted at Tom's hands. There was an abandoned terrycloth robe nearby and Tom glanced around furtively before grabbing that, wrapping Bill up in it and leading him out of the pool area by the hand. He balled his drenched tank top in his other hand and kept an eye out for that dark-haired man who had assaulted Bill a second time.

"Where do you want to..." he began, guiding Bill to the stairwell. Their cabins were only down one deck.

"Yours," Bill interrupted. "Let's go to your cabin, Tomi; I...I kind of wrecked mine. Don't want you to see it."

"Enough to get in trouble?" Tom wondered, picturing Bill going around smashing things in a rage. He was having difficulty imagining it. That reminded him of the other kind of trouble. "What were you _doing_ with that jerk?"

"I came to the party with Harry and Mona, and Fritz kept buying me drinks," Bill said, squeezing Tom's hand until his nails threatened to leave marks. "It didn't seem so bad at first. He was nice. Until..."

"Nice at first, until he became an asshole?" Tom murmured. Bill tripped beside him and Tom caught him, slipping a steadying arm around his waist.

Bill giggled more than a bit manically. "Yeah, I...yeah. Like you, but more drunk. I mean. I'm drunk! Like you, but in reverse." He hung over Tom's shoulder and breathed hotly in his ear as Tom patted himself down for his stateroom card.

"You're definitely drunk," Tom agreed. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't interpret their closeness as anything sexual, right now, but his body disagreed. Bill had been in his lap only that morning, forcing Tom's cock deep inside him as he rode them to their mutual climax.

"Tomi," Bill mumbled, shoving a hand into the pocket of his damp swim trunks and fumbling around.

"H-hey," Tom protested, gripping Bill's intrusive hand by the wrist as it brushed close to his groin.

"What?" Bill giggled, leaning hard against his shoulder and bringing up a stateroom card. "Here."

"Oh," Tom said, flushing. He shoved the card into the reader and turned the handle, getting them safely into the room. As he turned to lock the door, arms snaked around him from behind and the lithe weight of Bill pressed against him. Bill was half-hard, and rubbed himself against Tom's ass. "Hey, Bill, wait...wait, stop. We're not doing this." He twisted around in Bill's arms.

"Not?" Bill repeated tragically, his beautiful flushed face pulling down in sad lines.

"Not while you're drunk," Tom said, cupping Bill's face between his hands. 

"But I'm so ready," Bill averred, nudging his face to one side, kissing one of Tom's palms.

"But you said you didn't want to, when you were sober, so...sorry, I'm gonna wait until you say you _want_ me when you're sober again."

Bill leaped on him and pressed Tom back against the door until he collided against it and grunted protest. Arms wound around his neck and Bill was pressing his mouth to Tom's ear, mumbling, "Tomi...you really do love me."

"Well, yeah, I love you," Tom mumbled. Heat swept through his face, a telling indicator that he was surely bright red. "Why wouldn't you believe I do?"

"Because no one else does," Bill said matter of factly, leaning back to give Tom a glimpse of hooded, glimmering eyes and a full mouth. He drew his bottom lip briefly between his teeth and put his head to the side. "Because all this time, there hasn't been anyone in my life who's thought I'm good for anything but sex." He closed his eyes and began to pull away.

"Come here," Tom murmured. He gathered Bill against his chest and kissed his moist neck, still half-covered with straggling hair. He began to peel the terrycloth robe from Bill's body. "Let's get you into some clothes, okay? You're all damp, still."

Bill nodded trustingly and let Tom work the robe off over his thin shoulders. He shoved his own swim trunks off, leaving himself standing completely nude in the short entryway.

"Do you want to shower the chlorine off?" Tom asked him, turning his body slightly from Bill, willing himself not to get hard. They had a few things to work out, first, and Bill was still soaked in more ways than one. Nevertheless, the sight of his nude, hairless body had alluring associations and Tom's cock was not bound by the desire to be gallant.

"Okay," Bill said, and wove on his feet as he stumbled toward the bathroom. "Oops! The ship sure is moving."

"Not that much," Tom disagreed, trying and failing to contain a fond smile. "You gonna be okay in there?"

"I might slip and crack my head open," Bill said, slanting a very inviting look over his shoulder. "Tomi...come and wash my back?" He giggled and disappeared into the bathroom, then the sound of water spray started up.

"Fuck," Tom groaned, then pushed his swim trunks down and glared at his cock, which was perking with the proof of hopeful interest. "You are not getting any tonight; don't even think it."

The shower was warm and humid and Bill was slippery as a seal, wet and slick with soap by the time Tom joined him. Purely for the altruistic purpose of making sure Bill didn't fall and get hurt, Tom kept telling himself. There was an awful lot of giggling as Bill soaped up Tom's front and told him 'no funny business' even as his hands strayed constantly into danger zones.

"You're enjoying that a little too much," Tom said at last, holding Bill's hands away from him and reaching for the tiny bottle of complimentary shampoo to rub into Bill's black hair. He wondered briefly if the carpet would match Tom's, if he weren't waxed bare, then Tom shook his head briefly.

"Your hair," Bill mourned, running his soapy hands through Tom's short, dirty blond hair. He looked as though he might cry. "Your poor hair, it's all gone. You're so dumb, Tom."

"Maybe I'm just dumb without you," Tom suggested. "So you shouldn't leave me."

Bill shook his head, though what he was denying was unclear.

They finished showering and Tom hid his renewed hard-on in a twist of toweling. He got Bill dressed in one of Tom's own closer-fitting black tank tops and a pair of black and grey checked boxers, situated him on the couch with a bottled water, and returned to him fully-dressed as well. He ran a wondering hand through his short hair, which was already mostly dry. He couldn't remember the last time his hair had been this short – when he was a kid, it must have been.

"Come here," Bill said, patting the couch beside him and looking cross when Tom sat on the far end. With an annoyed grunt, Bill crawled across the couch and settled beside him, grabbing Tom's arm and tucking it around himself. "That's better."

"Bill," Tom said, low and insistent, still bothered by a nagging thought. "Why would you say no one loves you?"

Bill twitched his nose and looked down, sullen. "Well, my mother certainly didn't want me. My father kicked me out when he found out I'm gay, and hasn't wanted anything to do with me ever since. And everybody I've ever been interested in has either wanted to fuck me because I'm pretty or because I'm rich and famous."

Tom huffed and set his nose against Bill's neck. "I don't think you're pretty," he said.

Bill jerked his head up and glared.

"I think you're beyond pretty," Tom amended hastily. "You're so transcendentally gorgeous there isn't even a word for it. And I didn't even know you were rich, or famous."

Bill snuffled, his eyes suspiciously moist, and pressed his face against Tom's neck. "Love you, too, Tomi," he mumbled, then heaved a sigh so deep it was nearly a sob.

Tom petted and stroked at his back, trying to soothe an ache that he wasn't sure could be soothed. "It's okay...hey, Bill, it's going to be okay," he tried anyhow. "At least...at least we know, right? We have to stay together."

"But we're brothers!" Bill cried, raising his face from Tom's neck.

Tom sighed. This again. "Bill," he began, trying to sound patient. "Why do you believe that?"

"Um, because it's true?" Bill ventured, sounding as though he thought Tom was the crazy one for refusing to believe it.

"I think my own mother would have told me if I had a twin she'd given up at birth," Tom said, wrapping his arm more tightly around Bill and trying to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his head that whispered, maybe not. Maybe not, and that had been why she'd been so sorry, apologizing for something she couldn't even bear to tell him before she died.

Now he'd never know.

"I...I'm sorry," Bill said, sounding stricken, but he pressed on. "What if she couldn't, though, Tom? I mean, if she'd kept it from you for that long...if she thought you were...that you'd never see me again..."

"No, she would have told me," Tom said stubbornly.

Bill sighed against his neck. "What was her maiden name, Tom?"

"I don't remember any other last name but Trümper," Tom replied. "I didn't even know I wasn't Gordon's real son until I was thirteen...they waited that long to tell me."

Bill stroked over Tom's arm. "Then they could have waited to tell you about me..."

"No," Tom interrupted. "Because it's not true, Bill."

"Tom, we look identical," Bill said, moving his hand over Tom's arm in constant, soothing patterns. "We _look_ like twins. We're the same age...we have the same birthday...and my aunt admitted that I have a twin, that the mother I never knew took my older twin brother with her when she and my father split. And his name is _Tomas._ "

"It's not..." Tom faltered. It was becoming harder and harder to disbelieve in the face of Bill's insistence. "That could all be coincidence. Unless you have proof, like a birth certificate or something..."

Bill shook his head and pressed a small, almost unnoticed kiss against Tom's collarbone.

"Why are you doing this?" Tom said, despairing.

"Because we have to deal with it," Bill said, and kissed Tom's neck, only the barest brush of his lips. "Deal with it, and move on."

There was a finality to the way Bill said that, and it drew a shiver up Tom's spine. "I'm not drunk enough for this conversation," he said, but clung with his arm around Bill's waist.

Bill shook his head, making damp hair tickle against Tom's skin. Tom's sleeping shirt was loose and low-necked and Bill had access to far too much skin. "Neither am I," he decided. "What did you do with my rum? The bottle I left here?"

"It's in the mini-bar," Tom said. "I stuck it in there, I don't know, in case of emergency."

"I'm having a personal crisis," Bill whispered, and pried himself loose from Tom's side.

Before he could get very far, Tom reached out to circle Bill's narrow wrist with his fingers. "But you can't be without me, right?"

Bill looked down into his face. He gave him a long, solemn look then closed his eyes and swallowed, Adam's apple working up and down. "It's what you said, Tomi. It's too late for me," he said sadly, then he turned and wobbled toward the mini-bar.

Tom shook his head, the first swing sending him wildly to one side as he tried to compensate for the weight of hair that was no longer there. He watched Bill mix them up a couple of rum and cokes; tried to keep his eyes off Bill's pert ass in Tom's smallest pair of boxers – which still slipped down his hips – and looked anyhow. When Bill returned, he plopped himself right into the spot he'd left, restoring warm weight to Tom's thigh, and cuddled close to him.

Bill lifted his glass. "Clink," he insisted.

Tom raised his own. "To what?" he wondered.

Bill nestled closer under his arm, settling against Tom's shoulder. "To us," he replied, and forcefully clinked his glass against Tom's, coming close to slopping dark liquid over the brim. "No matter what."

"All right," Tom said. He pressed a kiss to Bill's hair, then drank.

They sipped at their drinks in silence for long moments, until both highballs were nearly empty. They were weary, Tom thought, of the circular arguments that were going nowhere. Deep down, Tom was scared. He was terrified to even open the door on the possibility that Bill might be right, because what would that mean for them, together?

So it couldn't be true.

"Do you want to be with me, Bill?" Tom inquired, when the burn of liquor was gone and their stirring breaths had calmed to a comfortable rhythm.

Bill squirmed in the circle of his arm. "You know I do," he said.

"No," Tom said. "I know that you told me we couldn't. I know that you said you can't stay away. But you never...you never said what you wanted."

Bill set his highball down on the other cushion and twisted around in Tom's arms. Abruptly, Tom found himself with a lapful of Bill, fierce-eyed and intent, his face aggressively bare. He put his arms around Tom's shoulders and neck and gripped the back of his neck tight enough to hurt, more than enough to get his full attention. "I want to be with you, Tom," he said outright, his amber-brown eyes so honest, serious enough that Tom doubted whether Bill was even drunk or not. "I want to be with you so much that it scares me. It feels like it has to be too soon; that I can't possibly love you this much because we haven't known each other for long. It's so much, it's not...it's not possible, and if it's...if it's true that we are..." He trailed off and his face folded in on itself in anguish.

Tom gathered Bill against him instinctively. "Don't...don't, please," he begged, Bill's pain transmitting through him as clearly as though it were his own. "Come here. Come here; it's okay, we're together."

Bill sniffed hard against his neck, then drew himself up until they were face to face again. "Is it real?" he said wonderingly. He reached up and touched Tom's lips.

Tom wrinkled his nose up at Bill. "Do you believe in God, Bill?"

Bill blinked at him, then shifted in Tom's lap, snagging Tom's empty highball glass off the arm of the couch and getting unsteadily to his feet. "Definitely...definitely not drunk enough for philosophy," he said. "I'll be right back."

"Bill..." Tom protested, but Bill was already zig-zagging a trail back to the mini-bar, returning shortly with refreshed drinks.

"All right," Bill said, dumping himself in Tom's lap and handing him one of the drinks. "I think this one's yours. I don't give a shit. If I've got anything, by now, so do you."

Tom hummed agreement and tipped his glass against Bill's when Bill brought it up. "To staying together?" he offered.

Bill accepted that, even though he looked brooding as he drank his rum and coke half down. "I do believe in a higher power," he said at last. "Not the God who's an old man with a long beard, peering down at everyone all the time shaking his finger at us if we're doing something he thinks is naughty." He sniffed.

"I don't believe in organized religion," Tom said quietly. He couldn't ever remember having stepped inside a church, and even in her last years Simone had refused the offers of the religious members of her respite care to have a priest stop by. Religion had never done anything for him, and as far as he could tell, it had done a great deal more harm to people than good.

Bill nodded. "Yes," he said. "That. If there's a God, he's not up there keeping a cosmic tally sheet on whether your faults outweigh your virtues, and whether you should be thrown in eternal jail for your trans...transgen...transgrade..."

"Transgressions," Tom supplied. His eyes dwelt on Bill's full mouth and heavy-lidded eyes; he wanted to lean over and kiss him, but he was sure it had to be too soon. Perhaps when Bill said he loved him, that he wanted to stay with him, he no longer meant in a romantic or sexual way. What if that was the stipulation?

Vividly Bill's words from the night before sprang to mind. _Will you still love me if we're not having sex?_

Tom's chest clenched. He tried to think of Bill as simply a friend, brotherly-close like Georg. Teasing him in a familiar way but not holding him, not caressing him, not kissing him open-mouthed ever again. He had to close his eyes, it hurt so much.

Still, if it was what Bill wanted...

He realized with a keen ache, sharper than the knowledge that he was in love with Bill, that he'd do whatever Bill wanted, regardless of his own desires. In that blinding instant, he gave up the notion of a separate self; he was Bill's entirely. It didn't matter what else there was between them. He'd be whatever Bill needed him to be.

"Tom?" Bill prompted, his eyes muzzily watchful as he took another careful sip of his drink.

"So you believe in a higher power," Tom said, deciding to take another stab at it. "Why would that bring us together if we couldn't...if we couldn't be that way with each other?"

"It would be like the ultimate revenge on me for my narcissism," Bill said, leaning his head on Tom's shoulder. He swirled the liquid around in his highball and sighed. "Because I've never been good enough for anyone...so I decided no one was good enough for me, either. I guess it serves me right."

"Don't," Tom said at once. "Don't do that. I think you're perfect."

"Maybe you're supposed to," Bill murmured cryptically. He shifted again, peering over at Tom and pushing their faces close together, fanning alcohol-laden breath over Tom's open mouth. He set his drink aside.

Tom made a face, but he cupped the back of Bill's neck as Bill closed the distance. They kissed. It was the softest brush of their lips but the sensation went through Tom like a hot shard of pleasure, knifing through his chest and transmitting to parts lower. His stomach twisted pleasurably as Bill settled over his lap, a lithe heavy weight. His dark hair closed out the world around them as he held Tom's face between his hands and kissed him.

Their mouths met with slow urgency and Bill kissed him so carefully, so thoroughly, his lips pressing over Tom's mouth from every angle again and again. He fit their lips together and ran the very tip of his tongue against Tom's lip, asking. Testing. His tongue fluttered at Tom's parted lips and he simply breathed there, waiting.

Tom groaned and licked across Bill's lips hungrily before pushing his own tongue to join with his lover's. Bill gave a little sigh and surrendered, opening his mouth to give Tom access. They kissed and their tongues met and tangled and worked hotly against one another. Tom tugged Bill forward on his lap until their chests met and he reached up a wondering hand to tug through the hair at Bill's temple, and stroke his thumb over Bill's cheekbone.

In this, they were beyond compatible.

"Tomi," Bill murmured, husky-voiced, and pressed another wet kiss to his mouth.

"Let's talk in the morning," Tom suggested, head fuzzy and balls aching. If this went on much longer he was going to tip Bill onto his back on the couch and have his way with him. Bill was too good at shattering any kind of resolve.

"Mm, okay," Bill said, stretching beside him and making his tank top ride up.

Tom groaned and reached for smooth, warm skin. Bill settled readily against him, combing a hand up through Tom's short hair.

"I want to sleep here with you," Bill said, nestling his head beside Tom's.

"As if I'd let you go," Tom murmured, and tightened his grip to show he was serious.

Bill reached for his glass and drained it, then nudged his mouth sweetly against Tom's as he set the empty glass on the couch cushion. He caught his breath and started to kiss Tom harder, his lips opening, and he straddled Tom as though he wanted to fuse their bodies together.

"No...no," Tom protested, and had to use both hands to hold Bill back from him. "We'll see how you feel in the morning, okay?"

"Right," Bill agreed, dipping his head to eye Tom from beneath his lashes. "Because you love me."

Tom stroked his cheek and could manage nothing more than a nod. "So let's go to bed. To sleep." He had to look away because Bill was too gorgeous, beautiful enough to wreck a man. That was how Tom knew it couldn't be true; he didn't possess that kind of pull.

Bill nodded and almost fell over as he reached for Tom's drink, finishing that off too in a couple of swallows and nuzzling sloppily against his neck.

Tom rolled his eyes. "All right, that's the other reason we're not doing anything tonight," he muttered, getting Bill up and moving, holding him against his body as they stepped to the sway of the ship's movement. "You'd fall asleep, during."

"I'd never!" Bill's eyes flashed indignantly up at Tom as he was settled into bed.

"Mm-hmm," Tom mumbled noncommittally, settling himself beside Bill. He clicked the lamp off.

The sheets rustled, and a hand slipped into his.

"I'll never let you go," Tom said, low-voiced.

There was silence, and soft breathing; the lull of the ocean rocking them back and forth. After it had been so long that Tom was on the verge of sleep, Bill's hand squeezed his and he said, "I like that."

Tom whispered back, "I like you." He slipped into effortless sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Tom woke to the chirp of notifications in a dark hour some time before dawn, as the ship pulled into range of his mobile provider's service. He lay tangled up in the darkness and Bill, their limbs wound together, the scent at Bill's neck thick in his nose. Bill was warm and smelled of lotion and, when he nuzzled against Tom, his breath was rife with stale alcohol, but none of that mattered. Bill was in his arms and he had every intention of keeping him there.

He lapsed into sleep again, and dreamed of the two of them side by side together, walking along an endless expanse of sand, their footsteps vanishing behind them as the tide swept in.

The next time Tom woke, Bill was sitting athwart his hips and his layered dark hair was wavy, almost frizzed, around his face. He was bent over Tom, blocking out the light.

"Hi," Bill murmured from the barest distance possible, nose to nose with Tom and pressed against him, butt to Tom's groin, arms folded over Tom's chest.

"Mmm, hi," Tom mumbled, barely awake and half sure this was some delicious dream teasing his cock to hardness. "You should be so hungover." He remembered the way Bill had slammed back those last couple drinks, and wondered how many that asshole had brought him at the pool party.

"Please," Bill said, sitting up a bit, pressing his butt against Tom's cock and seeming unconcerned about that fact. "On rum? I can put men twice my weight under the table."

"That's nice," Tom began, and groaned a little as Bill moved forward and back, pressing his own morning wood against Tom's stomach, then giving Tom's more friction in return. "Bill, I thought you didn't want to..."

Bill laughed and looked down at him with the strangest expression; fear and exhilaration. "I never stopped wanting to, Tom," he said. "That was what scared me so much. Even knowing..."

"You don't _know_ ," Tom interrupted fiercely. "Okay? We don't have any proof."

Bill sighed; he sat up straight, pulling his ass away from Tom's groin, and patted his chest. "We've made port again, Tomi," he said, rubbing his hands in soothing circles over Tom's bare pectorals. 

Perhaps it was meant to be soothing, but Tom was getting horny. Well, hornier than he'd been to begin with, and it hadn't taken much.

Bill cocked his head and looked down at him, biting his lip. "Do you...what do you want to do today?"

Tom groaned and reached for him, making Bill slap his hands and laugh. "Ugh...you mean after, right?"

Bill made wide innocent eyes. "After what?"

Tom grabbed Bill's hips but he couldn't make himself do it. He wanted to push Bill back, skid him down his stomach until his cock was pressed firmly to Bill's butt again, but despite the tantalizing promise of Bill's movements atop him, he couldn't let himself until he had a sign that was more certain.

The least he could do was ask for it, but Tom chickened out. "After...whatever you want to do," he said obliquely, fitting his hands to the tempting points of Bill's stripped-bare hipbones. He continued vaguely, "You know, breakfast, coffee, getting ready for the day."

Bill leaned over him again until their chests brushed, settling his chin atop arms folded over Tom's chest. 

"Do you want to be with me, Tom?" he asked, tone low and uncertain.

"Very much," Tom said hoarsely, meeting the intensity of Bill's gaze. "You keep asking me that like my answer's going to change."

Bill's lips twitched and his eyes wavered, but he didn't break eye contact. "Maybe I'm worried it will...or it has," he admitted candidly.

Tom shook his head quickly. "Not possible," he replied. "Not even. Whatever...whatever you want, Bill, I'm..." He bit his lip. _I'm yours._

Bill kept looking down at him, dark eyes watchful.

"...up for it," Tom concluded. "Okay?"

Bill nodded after a moment, chin bumping over his forearm. He wriggled atop Tom, easing their bodies together. "Do you care?" he said at last.

Tom's brow creased and he opened his mouth to say he didn't think it was true, so of course he didn't. He thought better of that and shut his mouth as he remembered that moment of clarity, the night before; in the midst of everything that was going on when Bill had slicked his hair back and Tom had focused on his face. Even now, he could look up into Bill's fine features and see what went beyond a striking resemblance. _Twins,_ Bill's devastated whisper returned to him. He shook his head in denial. "I don't," he replied, stroking his thumbs over Bill's hipbones. "But...I know that you do."

Bill sniffed and his eyes welled with sudden brightness. "Not enough to stop," he whispered. "Not enough to do what's right, and stay away from you."

"Hey," Tom said, concerned. "Don't...hey." He tried to sit up but Bill was a heavy weight atop him. He put an arm to Bill's side and rolled, instead, toppling them over in a gentle wave and snaring an arm tight around Bill's back, the other cradling Bill's head to his chest.

"'m okay," Bill's voice issued from somewhere near his throat, muffled. "I'm dealing, Tom. I'm just...I'm worried that you're not."

"Not what?" Tom wondered uneasily, stroking Bill's ruffled hair.

"Not dealing," Bill clarified.

Tom shrugged. It would only start another fight if he said, again, he didn't quite believe it was true.

"I feel like this is still bothering you," Bill persisted, pulling away from Tom's front to get him eye to eye again.

"No," Tom replied, and cringed a little because that had sounded unconvincing. It bothered him as much as it bothered Bill, which was still apparently quite a bit. "I don't...it's not...I think you're wrong. I'm sorry, Bill. I won't believe it without some kind of proof."

Bill reached a black fingernail up to trace the shape of Tom's brow. "Tom," he said, sounding patient. His amber-brown eyes darkened.

"You're German...I'm...of German ancestry," Tom allowed. First-generation American-German was of German ancestry; it counted. "Maybe we're related, somehow; I could admit to that. But twins?"

"Tom," Bill said again, stretching forth to kiss his ear.

Tom closed his eyes and bit his tongue, anguished. It was so unfair.

"Would you stop having sex with me if there was some way for me to _prove_ to you that we're twins?" Bill asked him.

Tom blinked at him, and thought of an attic on the West coast, a safe with documents locked away, inaccessible to him now as the moon. Simone had had private papers that Tom had never seen, and now likely never would, given how Gordon had ended things between them. What was peace of mind worth?

"I didn't know sex was still an option," he said, avoiding the question.

"Tom," Bill said, all gentle reproof.

Tom sighed through his nose. "Yes," he said uncertainly.

"Liar," Bill whispered fondly, and nuzzled his ear. He closed his lips over it, sucking the lobe into his mouth, gentle and soft and unhurried. When he tongued at it, Tom groaned and tried to hold still, quivering. He ended up pushing his cock against Bill's stomach anyhow.

"What are you doing to me?" Tom asked, thinking back to the earlier times he'd asked that question. He stroked over Bill's back and answered it himself, this time. "You're making yourself into my everything."

Bill released his ear after a final lick and whispered into the shell of it, "I'm scared, too. But I want you too much to let you go." He pressed gentle kisses along Tom's jaw, then drew back to regard him through half-lidded eyes. "Is that horrible?"

"I think I'm the wrong person to look for reassurance on this," Tom told him. He ran his hands down Bill's back and pressed in at the plane of flesh just above Bill's ass. Bill was so skinny, but his skin was so smooth as Tom ran his hand up under the borrowed tank top and dug his fingers in. "Anything that keeps you right here where I want you is good by my books."

Bill shivered and wriggled closer to him. He opened his eyes and looked at Tom, and without words they moved into one another, pressing their lips together. Bill's breath was sweet on his tongue and Tom realized he must have gotten up, at some point, to brush his teeth in the early hours. They kissed, almost chaste movements of their lips at first, then Bill deepened the kiss and they made out with lazy swipes of tongue. Bill's teeth clinked against his as they both tried to get closer, shifting the angle of approach. A breath huffed against Tom's moist lips, the precursor to laughter, and Tom palmed a hand over Bill's boxer-clad ass as he kissed him harder. He thrust his tongue in and slid a finger into Bill's crease, rubbing against the impossibly hot place behind his balls, and Bill moaned and spread his legs, trapping one of Tom's between them.

"Are we gonna...?" Tom said hoarsely, pulling back only far enough to get a glimpse of Bill's shadowed eyes and flushed, excited face.

Bill sighed luxuriantly. There was none of the sadness or desperation of yesterday morning in his face or posture; he looked radiant, aroused. "Wait," he said, cupping a hand to the back of Tom's neck, teasing at short hairs with his nails. "I'm trying to remember if I have an excursion booked."

"Oh, fuck the excursion," Tom growled, pressing forward.

Bill gave him a delighted grin. "Or, fuck me."

Tom surged onto Bill, pushing him onto his back and kissing him hard. Bill made a low, eager noise and wrapped himself around Tom, arms and legs. They were kissing as Tom began to move, half-straddling Bill, half draped over him as he rubbed the aching knot in his boxers directly against Bill's answering bulge.

"Yes, yes," Bill murmured against his mouth, as Tom panted and dipped his hips to rub against Bill and push himself closer to the edge than he'd gotten only from frottage than he had in years. Simply looking down at Bill's needy face was making him crazy. Arms wound around him and squeezed him close and Bill had his legs hooked up over Tom, too, embracing him with his entire body.

Across the room, the phone rang.

Tom's lips went slack on Bill's as he recognized the obnoxious trip-hop tune of his own mobile ring-tone. He vaguely remembered hearing notifications in what had seemed like the middle of the night.

"Noo," Bill protested against his mouth, hugging Tom with arms and legs so tightly that Tom was breath-deprived by more than just his beauty as he looked down at him. "Don't you dare answer that, if you value your balls."

Tom was pretty certain he'd stay atop Bill even if the intercom system announced that the ship was sinking. "Not moving," he assured him, trapping Bill's lips under his for another heavy kiss.

"Good," Bill grumbled, as Tom chained kisses down from his bottom lip to his chin and along the line of his throat. "Because if you _want_ to get laid..." He trailed off and grabbed Tom's butt, thrusting up so that their clothed cocks collided.

Tom grunted and rubbed down against him. He caged Bill in with his forearms and looked down at his lover's bright, happily flushed face. "You like that?" he wanted to know, grinding down with deliberation against Bill's hardness. It was still odd to Tom that he was this attracted to a man; or, considering it was Bill, it was odd that it didn't seem strange to be intimate with him.

"Mm hm," Bill moaned, bumping up against him, clinging to Tom with legs hooked over his thighs. He drove his hips up and pushed the hot ridge of his cock into the groove between Tom's groin and his thigh. "Fuck, mm, yes." He gripped Tom's thighs and undulated against him.

"Ahh..." Tom's lips ghosted over Bill's chin and he kissed sloppily at his mouth. He rolled their hips together, falling into Bill's pace and adding to it, striving against him in thrilling beats. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hungry, so desperate, for another's touch. Not even in the needy teenage years when no amount of sex or jerking off had done it had he wanted this so badly. He was pretty sure he could come only from the friction between them so long as he kept moving.

Only their soft panting and the vague creaking of the bed stirred the becalmed cabin as they rubbed and moved against each other. Bill kissed Tom's mouth once, twice, and bumped their chins together as he clenched his legs over Tom's thighs and strained upward.

"Tom...unnh," Bill voiced at last. He nipped Tom's chin. "Skin, give me skin; I need to feel you."

That was the best idea ever; a sheer revelation. Tom nodded and moved a hand between them to push Bill's boxers down. He caressed Bill's hot belly beneath the shirt before running it up, pressing their stomachs together. "Move, you have to let go of me," Tom said, as he struggled to get their boxers off.

Bill moaned but he loosened his leg-lock.

After getting their boxers off and struggling upright enough to shed their shirts, Tom lay atop Bill and gasped as their mouths connected. The naked skin against his, everywhere they touched, was almost more than he could bear. He stroked over Bill's face and chest and lingered at his bare right hip as their sweat-damp bodies rolled together. Their motions were hasty now, more urgent, and Bill's cock was thick and rigid against his stomach.

"What do you...uhh, uhhn...what do you want to do?" Tom demanded, groaning as Bill sucked on his neck hard enough to leave a mark.

"Get in me," Bill demanded, his voice breathy with need. "Ahh... _ahh,_ Tomi, it won't take long."

Tom dropped his head to Bill's shoulder and couldn't stop his hips from an excited jolt as he rubbed against Bill. He shuddered. "Thought you wouldn't let me."

Bill shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, and tongued at Tom's ear. His hand made a pass up and down Tom's back. "I need it. I need _you_. Please don't say no."

Tom kissed Bill's neck. He didn't think he was capable of saying no, especially not when Bill was all sweaty and disheveled in his bed, rutting up against him so sweetly. "Be right back."

He found the lube where he expected, but the frantic search for condoms brought him back to the foot of the bed, empty-handed and sheepish. "Bill," he said, and reached out to grasp one of Bill's feet, wide arches and long toes corresponding to his own. "We're out of condoms, we used my last one yesterday."

Bill hitched up onto his elbows, stomach muscles flexing and the cock against his belly obscenely red. He looked uncomprehending.

"No more condoms," Tom said, and shook Bill's foot as though to prompt him.

Bill blinked at him, then moaned. He splayed his legs and pushed his butt up, giving Tom a tantalizing glimpse of the shadowed inner spaces between thighs and crevice of his ass. "Tomi," he said, and reached down to grasp his own cock as he locked eyes with Tom, tongue darting out to lick his lip.

Tom shook. "What do you want me to..." he began. He was pretty sure housekeeping didn't stock condoms as a convenience item.

Bill panted and lifted his hips again. "I'm clean," he said, and gave Tom an imploring look.

Tom was on him in a flash. "I am too, I'm negative, always careful," he said. As he spoke he got between Bill's legs and lifted one long, sprawling leg up over his own shoulder.

"Then fuck me," Bill said, moving his hand over his cock and hissing. "Please, Tom, please do it..."

Tom turned a brief smile his way and kissed Bill's knee. "I thought you didn't beg."

Bill's eyes went dark. "I'll beg for you," he said, low and husky. "Only for you. Give it to me."

He gave Bill a lubed-up finger, and another, and another when Bill kept asking for more. Tom hovered over Bill and gave him his cock, next, when Bill cried out again that he needed it. Tom had to pause for an instant on the verge of penetration, and not simply for the exquisite grip on the head of his cock. Bill shone brilliantly beneath him, dewed with sweat, reaching a place beyond gorgeous in the morning light as Tom pushed into him, connecting their bodies the way that Bill had already inextricably woven his way into Tom's heart. He reached out for Tom with both hands and Tom worked his cock into Bill and folded their bodies together to fit. Bill's arms locked around his neck and it was better, more complete than coming home. Bill _was_ everything to him now, more than music, more vital than any other bodily imperative.

"Yes, yes," Bill chanted, already trying to roll his hips up to take more of Tom's dick.

Tom groaned, easing in and out. The sensation of his dick being squeezed by those velvety walls, unsheathed by a condom, was making him tremble. He was afraid to move. "Feels so good," he voiced aloud, and braced himself over Bill with one hand.

"It's good, Tomi," Bill assured him, and grunted, easing up against Tom. "Go...go harder, faster; need to feel you."

Tom nodded jerkily, stretched down for a kiss and made them both shake at the way that pressed his cock so deep inside of Bill. He stroked his thumb over Bill's cheek. He pumped his hips back and forth.

Bill cried out so loud that Tom started to pull back, startled and fearing he'd hurt him. Nails raked against his shoulders, struggling to keep him close. "No, don't stop," Bill told him. "Go... _go_ , go, fuck me!"

Tom pulled half-out with a shudder that coursed through his entire body, transmitted to Bill, then thrust back in with a shout. Their bodies slapped damply together as they found their rhythm and it was hard, fast. Tom plowed into Bill with deep, long thrusts. He braced himself over Bill's beautiful body and worked back and forth, jacking Bill's legs and ass high enough to kiss him almost constantly. Bill bit at his lips and tongue and moaned continuously, fingernails tearing at Tom's back and buttocks as he tried to get him closer, deeper. They panted into one another's mouths and sweat ran from Tom's face and neck to drip onto Bill's.

"More...more," Bill groaned, his voice low and very masculine.

Tom pulled back and grabbed Bill by the hips, riding him higher onto his lap. He thrust right into Bill's ass and held himself there, face tightening into strained lines as he searched for Bill's spot and imagined the tip of his dick rubbing over the spongy place he'd found with his fingers. Bill's excited gasps and grunts tumbled out, inchoate and desperate, linked with Tom's name. Tom nodded to himself and picked up the rhythm again, driving his painfully-hard dick into the pull of Bill's ass, groaning as Bill tightened around him with each up-stroke as though reluctant to release his cock. He quickened his thrusts at Bill's urging until he was pounding their bodies together, the slap of their flesh and their moans wreathing the air.

"Gonna come," Tom grunted, unable to hold it back any more. He wanted to make Bill come first, but his balls were so tight he was surprised he hadn't burst already. Bill himself was a distraction enough, a feast for the eyes, to keep Tom striving for his climax beyond the point which he should have reached it.

Bill's response was a soft keen as he worked his hips and ass up, trying to sink himself again and again on Tom's dick. He was beyond words, his eyes hazed over and fixed on Tom, his hands grasping at Tom's thighs and arm and whatever part of Tom's bare skin he could reach.

Tom leaned over to bend Bill in half again, fucking directly into Bill's ass as he held his legs up and folded over him to join their mouths. He whimpered as he sucked on Bill's lip, his thrusts dissolving into jagged, irregular pulses as he filled Bill up, spurting inside him and grinding him down into the sheets.

"Ahh...ahh, _Tomi_ ," Bill wailed, and warmth jetted over Tom's stomach.

Tom kept rocking against and into Bill until he was completely spent, hugging around his neck and pressing their sweaty cheeks together. "Oh my god," Tom said, overwhelmed. He wanted to keep pushing his dick into Bill, even though he was done. He tried to hold himself there as long as he could, even though he started slipping out as he began to soften. "Fuck."

Bill was laughing softly. "We sure did," he said, sounding both dazed and admiring. "Ohh, I don't know if I'm going to be able to _walk_ today."

Tom propped himself up above Bill as he disengaged. "No horseback riding today?"

"None," Bill confirmed, and stroked the back of Tom's neck. He pressed their cheeks together again. "Spend the day with me again, Tom?"

"Of course," Tom mumbled. He let himself down onto the sheets beside Bill. "Every day, if I can."

Bill nuzzled against his cheek; threw a possessive arm over his waist. "You mean that?"

"Yep," Tom said, popping the 'p.' "You can't get rid of me now. Especially..." He trailed off, superstitiously afraid of bringing that up again.

"Especially because we're...?" Bill began to complete it, then left it unsaid.

"You can't prove it," Tom said stubbornly, and Bill sighed.

They laid in languid silence together until Bill's stomach produced a mournful gurgle, joined by a complaint from Tom's, and Bill began to giggle against his shoulder. Tom chuckled, too, and shifted onto his side to kiss Bill's nose.

"Let's get you fed, figure out where we are and what we're doing," Tom suggested.

Bill nodded but continued to lie there beside Tom. His eyes were dark, wide. Waiting. His mouth curved up in a quick, unprovoked smile and his eyes glimmered.

"Hey," Tom said, and cupped the side of his face.

Bill shook his head, kissed Tom's fingers, and sat up. "It's okay," he said, then gave Tom a wider smile. "Hey, what day is it?"

"The fourth..." Tom began, and cut himself off when Bill wrinkled his nose.

"Which day of the cruise?" Bill elaborated.

"Fuck, I don't know," Tom said. He rubbed his hand through his hair and rumpled over it, surprised all over again to find the dreadlocks gone.

Bill gave him mournful eyes. "I can't believe you cut your dreads off," he said. "Now I have to get used to looking at your face instead of your hair."

Tom stared at him, then flailed. "You...but...it's just...ugh." He started to shake his head, then whined, "Bill..."

"Well, you shouldn't have cut it," Bill said mercilessly, but trailed his fingernails through Tom's blunt-cropped hair before lifting up to give him a kiss. He began to inch toward the nearest end of the bed, and an odd expression crossed his face.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, reaching out for him.

"Nothing..." Bill trailed off, then rubbed at his butt with a confused look that phased into gradual enlightenment. "Um I gotta use your shower, bye!" He grabbed Tom's boxers from the bed, held them behind him like a modesty shield, and shuffled off for the bathroom with the cutest duck waddle Tom had ever seen.

Tom blinked, then he got it. He tried to stop himself from grinning, but there was no Bill to hit him for looking so smug, so he grinned broadly at the sheets and the wall and the sun pouring through the window. He stretched his arms out behind his bed and sprawled out in the afterglow. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he could be enjoying the pleasure of Bill's company and a shower at the same time, and so he got up from the bed at last, stumbling around despite the stillness of the ship as his thighs wobbled.

"Fuck," he said admiringly. He was already reminiscing on something that had happened only moments ago. It had been so good; better than good – positively amazing. He'd never had sex with anyone without a condom before, and already he was hoping Bill would let them do it again.

He paused on the way to check his phone notifications out of habit, and there were several, but he set the phone aside. Nothing interested him more than Bill.

Accordingly, he went to invade the bathroom and stripped back the shower curtain and stepped in as Bill squealed a protest, then hauled him close and sucked on his neck as he offered to soap his back but ended up hindering more than he helped.

They finished getting ready in their respective rooms, and met near the elevators that would take them to the Lido Deck, and breakfast buffet. Tom grabbed his stateroom card, wallet, and phone, holding the mobile to his ear on his way to meet Bill. He hated to concede and check his voicemail on vacation, but he wanted to avoid Michael's gentle nagging this time.

Speaking of his security guard, as Tom emerged from his cabin, Michael had lifted his Terminator sunglasses to give Tom wide eyes, then gave him a chin lift and a thumb's up.

"What was that for?" Tom had asked.

"Mr. Kaulitz is smiling again, so you must have done something right," Michael told him, absolutely straight-faced, then lowered his sunglasses.

Tom couldn't help breaking into a wide grin at that. Hopefully, he'd done several things right that morning.

He cut his phone off mid-voicemail when he spotted Bill near the elevators, also on his mobile. Bill turned and blew Tom a kiss, holding up one finger, then tucking his phone into the shoulder-bag on his arm a moment later. "I don't have any excursions planned today," Bill told him, giving Tom an unbelievably sweet smile and holding his hand out for Tom.

Tom reached out for him, twining his fingers with Bill's without a second thought. "What day is it, then?"

"Day eight," Bill said, making a face. "Can you believe it? Only two more days, then we're done..."

Tom nodded, eyeing the carpet for a moment, then taking the plunge and giving Bill a serious look. "Come home with me."

Bill inhaled, but he was beginning to nod slowly. "I...I'll have to cancel and re-schedule a lot of things, but..."

"I mean, it's okay if you say no, but I'll pay for whatever it costs to swap your plane ticket out, and I'll understand if you're sick of me after a week, but I figured..." Tom stumbled through proposals and rationalizations before Bill's words stuck with him and he realized Bill was grinning. "Wait, did you say yes?"

"Maybe," Bill said, his grin widening.

"Don't be a dick; you said yes," Tom said, and looked over at Bill.

Bill simply nodded, and squeezed their interlaced fingers.

"Why did you say yes?" Tom wanted to know, after a moment.

Bill was looking off to the side, lip twisted between his teeth in a considering expression. "I want more time," he said, after a moment. He met Tom's gaze again, suddenly appearing shy. "Don't you? I mean...that's why you asked, right? Anyhow, that was my manager on the phone. I was cancelling a few things with him, asking him to clear my schedule for the month."

"And the verdict?" Tom wanted to know.

"Oh, he's not happy," Bill said frankly. "We were about to start a press junket for a new book that's coming out, signings in all of the major cities, that sort of thing."

Tom shifted from one foot to the other, frowning at Bill. "You're a lot more famous than you let me think, aren't you?"

"Don't be silly," Bill said, dismissing that. "It's all pretty standard stuff for writers, and my manager is pushing this because with my travel segment he thinks he can grab a wider demographic. Well, that and my looks, I guess."

"No argument there," Tom said, cupping the side of Bill's face and drawing him in for a kiss. By the time either of them were ready to come up for air, they had reached the Lido Deck and the scent of all kinds of food and coffee lured them from the cab. Tom shuffled forward, letting Bill guide him through the thinning crowd of oldsters. There was something he had to tell Bill, and tell him soon. It wasn't like he'd kept it from him on purpose, exactly. Tom reached up to his head in an instinctive gesture, found his hair gone, and scratched sheepishly at his ear.

"Come on," Bill said, tugging him along, mistaking his stalling for hesitance. "Looks like they're about to shut down the breakfast lines. If you want Eggs Benedict..."

"Oh my God, yes," Tom exclaimed, re-discovering the imminent death of his stomach, if he wasn't quick about feeding it.

They managed to secure seating beside a window that morning because the restaurant was mostly deserted. From the side of the ship, they had a bird's eye view of an expanse of turquoise-limned white beach, and beyond it a line of palms and the shape of a city with adobe buildings roofed in red slate.

"Nice," Bill murmured, slipping into a seat beside Tom and nudging his shoulder as he regarded Tom's two plates loaded with eggs over toast, two types of sausage, and a heap of fresh fruit.

"I'm a growing boy," Tom said modestly.

Bill made a noise halfway between a scoff and laughter. "There's only one thing about you that's still growing," he said.

Tom affected shock. "I'm not showing you that _here_ ," he said.

"You want coffee? Juice?" Bill offered, setting his own plates down – selections remarkably similar to Tom's, for all his teasing – and patting his shoulder.

"Coffee, please; no cream or sugar."

"Be right back."

Tom steepled his fingers together for a moment as he watched Bill's ass retreating from the table. He bit his lip, mesmerized, reflecting again on what they'd done that morning. He thought he should ask Bill if it had been okay.

The obnoxious blare of his phone's ring-tone snapped him from his pleasant introspection and Tom fumbled it out of his pocket, saw that it was Andreas, and raised it to his ear with a sigh.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"Are you still with that Bill Kaulitz man?" Andreas demanded at once.

"I'm having a wonderful vacation," Tom answered obliquely, settling back in his chair. "I don't even know where we are today, but the beach is beautiful. My breakfast smells fantastic. And I'm hanging up on you when Bill gets back to the table with my coffee."

"Jesus, you are," Andreas said with a sigh. "Can you give me a rough time estimate on how long you expect this to--"

"I thought I was clear about that," Tom interrupted, his tone hardening. "This isn't a fling, Andreas. I love him."

There was a pause, then after a moment Andreas replied, "Oh, my God. You really do, don't you. I don't think I've ever heard that word out of your mouth before unless you were referring to a car, a guitar, or your dog."

Tom shifted uneasily in his chair, trying to admire the view. A tense knot had returned to his chest, drawing tight enough to threaten his air supply. "Look, have you...did you look up any pictures?"

"He's hot," Andreas said at once. "No problems there."

"Good, I'd hate to think you'd tell me to break up with my lover because he wasn't good-looking enough," Tom said sarcastically. "I...have you...noticed anything about him?"

"Aside from the fact that he looks like a woman, looks like he should be modeling for haute couture, and is approximately a hundred times hotter than anything you've ever tapped before?"

"Fuck off," Tom said genially. "He doesn't look that much like a woman. No, I...there's...we've been told by a few different people on the cruise that there's something of a resemblance between the two of us."

"Huh," Andreas grunted after a moment, and Tom could tell by the clicking and tapping on the other end of the line that his manager was on the computer and probably speaking with Tom on his bluetooth earpiece. "Little bit, maybe. Is there something I need to know?"

Tom winced pre-emptively. "There's a distant possibility that we may be related," he hedged. That was as far as he was willing to go. Even dropping a hint to Andreas that Bill thought they might be twins would probably make his manager shit bricks and call Michael to have him push Bill over the side of the ship, or haul on Tom's "under contract" leash.

Andreas was silent for so long that Tom checked the reception on his phone.

"You there?" Tom prompted.

"Huh," Andreas said again. "I guess I can see it, a bit. The nose, and you've got the same cleft chin."

"That's all?" Tom asked, relieved.

"What, you're not going to tell me you're brothers or something, are you?" Andreas said with a laugh. "It's fine, we can spin it. Did you know, sociologically speaking, people tend to end up with people of the same attractiveness index as themselves? Unless there's money or some other overriding factor involved, of course."

Tom forced a laugh, glad that Andreas had glossed right past the brothers crack. "Get him into the after parties for me, all right? He's my plus-one from now on."

"You're coming out with this?" Andreas said, sounding aghast.

"I'm just a guitarist," Tom said. "It's not going to be the end of the world."

"But half your demographic is teenage girls, Tom!" Andreas exclaimed, on the verge of hysterics.

"Make it work," Tom advised. "We're in the twentieth fucking century, Andreas. And my personal life doesn't belong to the label. We've made enough money over the past ten years for them, I can do what I want as long as I'm not crashing cars and smashing up hotel rooms." He brought his thumb up to hover over the end call button as Bill glided up the short set of steps that led to the upper seating where Tom was. Bill caught his eyes and beamed excitedly as though it had been ages since he'd last seen Tom.

"You said you love him?" Andreas pressed.

"More than my own life," Tom said softly.

"All right, I can work that angle," Andreas replied.

With an annoyed grunt, Tom hung up on his manager and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"Hey," Bill said, setting their drinks down and slipping back into his seat beside Tom, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"Missed you," Tom responded, nipping at Bill's lower lip.

"I'm not breakfast!" Bill declared, but pecked Tom once more before seizing his knife and fork.

Tom was going to make his confession over breakfast, but they were joined with another older couple, one of Bill's myriad acquaintances from his time aboard. To see Bill chatting so easily with others, Tom would never have suspected him to possess a fraction of the curmudgeonly nature that Bill claimed. Misanthropic and bitter, Bill had said, and said he'd recognized it in Tom because he was the same.

During the obligatory introductions, the older lady, Susan, had asked who Tom was, and during Bill's hesitation, Tom had supplied, "I'm his man."

"Is that what they're calling it these days," Susan had replied, laughing. "I thought the term was 'partner' now."

"Oh, that sounds so respectable, don't you think?" Bill had replied wickedly. "I prefer to call Tom my lover; it sounds so naughty. Boyfriend is such a teenager term, and we're not married, so..."

Tom had tuned out, mostly, after that as Susan and Bill discussed the shopping to be had on the island, the excursions that were available – Bill had passed, figuring he could spend the day on the beach or sign up at the last minute for something if one of the events caught his attention. Susan's husband Jerry kept his mouth occupied with breakfast and Tom more or less did the same.

Once they'd cleared their plates and excused themselves, Tom caught Bill around the waist as they left the restaurant. "So, what do you want to do today?" he said into Bill's ear.

Bill gave him a fleeting smile. "Well, I figure I owe you one," he replied. "For standing you up the other day?"

"Ah," Tom said, recalling his afternoon of cigarettes and bar snacks. "What exactly happened that day, anyhow?"

"At first I went to get some shopping done, answer some voicemails. I was going to meet you," Bill said, giving him big, penitent eyes. "Then...I had a thought. Because of the cake, and the birthday, and...and us both being thirty. Not to mention, the resemblance. It was all so strange. I'd never even thought I had a brother before. But I called up my aunt in Germany – woke her up; she was pissed, thought someone was dead."

"I'm sorry," Tom said uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Bill said with a short, unamused laugh. "Me, too. When she told me I'd been born with a twin, I was so mad. Well, I didn't believe her at first. Then when it all sank in, I was so utterly crushed. I mean, I...we..." He sucked in a harsh breath.

Tom tightened his arm around him. "Don't," he said after a moment. "Don't think about it, okay?"

Bill peered at him sideways. "I have this feeling you keep saying that because _you_ don't want to think about it," he said shrewdly. "I haven't...I can't stop thinking about it, Tom. That's why I got so drunk that afternoon. I was trying to...I don't know, shut my brain up, or something. Didn't work so well."

"Bill," Tom began helplessly.

"But I'm still here," Bill concluded. He nudged against Tom, giving him an Eskimo kiss first, then pressing their mouths together softly, as though it was Tom that needed to be treated with care. "So what do you want to do today?"

Tom thought about that for an instant, and a grin spread broadly across his face.

Bill smacked his chest. " _Outside_ the ship, if you please."

"Okay, okay. Let's go hit the beach, sound good? I still haven't gotten to dig my toes in any sand."

"My God, you're right," Bill said after a moment. "Let's go, Tomi."

"And Michael may get to finish his book, at last," Tom murmured. He looped his arm through Bill's.

Outside, the sun and towering heat was like a dry slap against their skin. Once again they grabbed the towels on offer at a table at the end of the gangway. Bill took pictures with his camera phone as they went, then paused Tom at the archway at the end of the pier to extend his long arm and capture the two of them, pushing their heads together. As he displayed the image, Tom wet his lip with his tongue and thought, again, that Bill was far too beautiful to be his twin. His own face never looked so illuminated, so utterly compelling.

"Your hair," Bill said again, running a hand over the blunt-cropped light brown ends of it. "We've got to do something about your hair, Tomi."

"What, do I not look like enough of a thug?" Tom said with a short laugh, steering them along the path that would take them down to the beach. He wondered if he could convince Michael to run drinks for the two of them. There were some beach chairs near the water that had 'Tom and Bill' written all over them.

When he glanced back at Bill, his lover was giving him a speculative expression.

"What's that look?" Tom wanted to know.

"How would you feel about cornrows, Tom?" Bill asked him outright. "You could put extensions in...dye your hair black, maybe; it would be easier to match..."

"I don't want to look like you," Tom said at once, without thinking.

Bill bit his lip, shaking his head.

"Bill...I didn't mean..." Tom began, gripping at Bill's hand when his lover began to pull away.

"Tom, you already do," Bill said quietly. "The sooner you recognize that...the sooner you deal with the truth..."

"No," Tom said, and now he was the one pulling away. "Bill, we've been over this; I don't accept it..."

"And that's part of the problem, Tom!" Bill said, soft but intense.

"Can we just..." Tom glanced around, checking to make sure there was no one closer than Michael, twenty feet away and regarding the beach with longing.

"Later," Bill agreed after a moment, and his fierce amber-brown eyes let Tom know he wouldn't be dropping the subject, only tabling it for now.

"Cornrows might be okay," Tom said, as they trudged up the beach and sand scrunched over his flip-flops, breaking over his toes in crumbly divots. He reached out to grasp Bill's hand. "I can imagine the shit fit that Andi will throw when he sees me. He had a hell of a time coping with the dreadlocks, at first."

Bill laughed. "Andi is...?"

"My manager," Tom said, and inhaled, drawing in a slow breath for fortitude. "Bill...I need to tell you something."

Bill gave him inquisitive eyes as they picked their way over the hot sand. "Ouch...ouch! If it's serious, it can wait until we get to those beach chairs. The ones with that nice big stripey umbrella. Yes, yes; that chair is definitely for Bill."

Tom grinned over at him. "Want me to carry you princess-style?"

Bill squawked and hit out at him with his rolled-up towel. "Don't you dare!"

Once they were settled, Michael drew close enough to ask, discreetly, if they wanted drinks – there was a bartending shack directly up the beach. Bill looked at Tom; Tom looked at Bill.

"It's happy hour somewhere?" Tom offered with a grimace.

"Water, please, Michael," Bill requested, and Tom nodded, holding up two fingers.

Bill laid himself out beneath the umbrella, wrapping his arms around his knees and gazing out across the water. Tom sprawled over his chair and rubbed sunblock over every exposed bit he could reach, then peeled off his shirt and begged Bill's assistance, to which Bill happily applied himself. Once again Tom found himself on the end of something that was more massage than lotion-spreading.

"So what's this urgent thing you need to tell me?" Bill prompted, digging his thumbs into Tom's lats and making him rumble like a satisfied lion.

"Oh...I'm...well, we didn't really talk about what I do," Tom mumbled, ducking his head as Bill walked his fingers up Tom's spine.

"You're a rock star," Bill said matter-of-factly.

"You knew?" Tom returned, chagrined.

"Well, it took me a bit," Bill admitted. "At first I was trying to figure out who this asshole chav was, and how dare he, et cetera. Then I remembered where I'd seen those dreadlocks and that awful triple-x large fashion sense before. I think I saw one of your album covers on iTunes the day before I flew out, actually."

"I only wear double-x," Tom said, wounded.

"Whatever," Bill said with a laugh, teasing his nails at Tom's nape.

Tom murmured something unintelligible, crossing his legs as his cock perked up at that. His body recognized keenly that the last time Bill had done that with his nails, they'd been in bed and considerably more connected than they were now. And would be later, he hoped.

"Cornrows would suit you quite well," Bill said soothingly, patting his shoulder. "And then maybe you'd show off your forehead and ears for a change."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with my forehead, or my ears," Tom began, spoiling for a fight.

"Exactly," Bill replied, flipping onto his back and appearing to close his eyes. It was hard to make out; he was wearing sunglasses. "You're blocking my sun, Tomi."

"You're not even in the sun."

"Shh," Bill responded.

Tom heaved himself up and deposited himself onto his own chair. "If you fall asleep," he threatened, "I'm carrying you into the water and dumping you in."

Bill gasped. "And I thought you wanted to get laid, later."

Tom offered, "I'm going to take you to the VMAs, later."

Bill popped up from his seated position, bolt upright and grabbing his glasses from his face to stare at Tom. "The VMAs? As in, MTV?"

"Yeah," Tom said, frowning. Bill didn't exactly sound thrilled.

"Tom, we can't," Bill said, his expression twisting.

"I don't see why not," Tom replied, stubborn.

"You want to date me, in public?" Bill said. He sat up and hugged his knees again.

"Yes," Tom replied fiercely. "Yes, damn it. Even if...even if it's true, nobody knows. I mean, even I don't believe it, so..." He wanted Bill any way that he could keep him, but if they were going to be lovers, he wasn't going to hide it.

It would be too damned hard.

"Someone will see the resemblance, Tom," Bill said softly, worriedly. He slotted his fingers together and bit his lip.

"I told Andreas," Tom said, and hurried on at the flicker of incipient panic on Bill's face, "That we look alike, that's all I said. And he said he could spin it. And...get this...that people usually end up with a partner who's in the same, uh, attractiveness index as themselves."

Bill appeared to consider that a moment, then settled back into the lounge chair with a ragdoll slump. He was grinning. "I think we're both narcissists, Tomi."

"Call me what you want, so long as I get to keep you."


	14. Chapter 14

"Just think what it's going to be like, aiming for that when you come," Bill said hoarsely.

Tom blotted sweat from Bill's face with the end of the towel around his neck, squeezing down on Bill's fingers. He thought he was more disturbed by Bill's pain than Bill was; just seeing him wincing at the buzz of the needle over his skin, waiting tensely during the soft shaky intake of his breath and the tremor in his fingers, was making Tom frantic.

After spending hours on the beach soaking up the sun, or in Bill's case, sprawling out beneath the shade then dabbling his toes at the line where ripples of water met wet sand, Bill had hauled Tom into town with the threat of a leisurely shopping trip. Instead of dragging him into any of the shops, though, Bill had brought them up short at a tattoo parlor awning and gotten a glowing, excited look on his face.

"I know what I want," he'd declared, clapping his hands. "Tom, where do you want it?"

Tom had frowned over at him, then grinned and leaned in, brushing his lips against Bill's earlobe as he declared, "Better to wait until we get back to the ship, don't you think?"

Bill had drawn back with a reproachful scowl. "No, _body_ part, Tom; what part of my body should I have tattooed?"

Tom had blinked over at him, drawing Bill close, and his hand had settled low on Bill's right hip, drawing circles with his thumb. "I...huh. You really want to get a tattoo?"

"Perfect, that's just the spot," Bill had purred, clasping his fingers over Tom's, then dragging him through the front door of the shop.

"I can't believe you're doing this," Tom said at last, stroking sweat-damp hair away from Bill's face as he glanced up at the clock again. They'd have barely enough time for a late lunch before the first blast from the ship would herald boarding in preparation for departure.

"Mm." Bill blinked up at him, his lips crooking in a brief grimace of a smile. "Don't you think it's sexy?"

"Incredibly sexy," Tom admitted in a low voice. He eased his thumb along Bill's collarbone and the prominence of a neck tendon as he allowed himself to stare openly at the black stars that the tattoo artist was imprinting into the skin of Bill's right hip. He'd been trying not to look at them too much, because the first time Bill had referred to it as Tom's target, his cock had twitched and begun to harden in his pants.

The tattoo artist had been ignoring them both, the little comments and flirting that was going back and forth. The man blotted at the skin of Bill's hip again and drew the needle down, closing the last point of the outermost star. "We're done," he said, aiming a brief smile their way. "Take as long as you need, then we'll talk about taking care of it while it heals, and after."

Bill nodded and leaned back in the chair, easing out a slow breath and then flashing his brilliant smile at Tom.

"You okay?" Tom asked again, teasing through Bill's flat-ironed hair with his fingers and leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

"Yeah, it's fine," Bill said quickly. "Feels weird, like...throbbing? Doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would." He laced their fingers together and held Tom's palm over his belly.

"I'm not touching it yet," Tom warned him.

Bill grinned up at him and wriggled in the chair, pushing his belly up against Tom's palm and rubbing at his own hip, below the reddened skin of the star.

"God, that is...so sexy," Tom told him as his eyes dwelled on Bill's hip, no longer bare with the adornment of the black triple star. "I'm curious, though. What made you pick that design?"

Bill lowered his lashes, looking up at Tom coyly. He shifted his grip on Tom's hand, taking hold of his index finger and guiding it to the new ink. Before Tom could squawk and pull his hand away, Bill ghosted Tom's finger over the outline of the first star. "This one's you," he said. "You're on the outside, protecting me."

Tom blinked and let Bill guide his finger over the second, middle star, a cutout figure like the first.

"And this one is me, following your shape, unknowing, but cut from the same mold," Bill continued, sounding reflective. "Running my own course, distinct from yours."

Tom shifted to brace himself more closely over Bill as his lover pressed his hand at last to the solid black shape of the star in the middle. "And this one is the two of us, together," he finished, biting his lip. "It's the same figure, the same star, but rejoined. Complete within itself, no empty spaces."

After a moment during which Tom didn't speak, Bill twisted in the chair and brought his other hand up, tugging at the side of Tom's face to bring his eyes into view. "I hope you don't hate it," he said, his voice struggling for light-heartedness. "It's rather permanent, you know..."

"The way I feel about you," Tom mumbled, and pressed his lips to Bill's brow, overcome. "Sorry, I...I don't know what to say." He kissed over Bill's temple, the corner of his eye, and found his way to Bill's mouth at last.

Bill's lips fluttered beneath his and after a moment he pushed Tom off before the kiss could deepen. "We should go," he whispered. His lips curled in a brief, secret smile; a look just for Tom, as he'd never seen it on Bill's face when they were anything but alone together. "So you like it?"

"Yeah, I like it," Tom said hoarsely, and moved to stroke the skin above it. "Wish I could touch it." All too vividly, he could imagine his come jetting pale milky drops over that black tattoo, _you, me, us_ , while Bill writhed in his grip and pushed up against him, coming in Tom's hand. Or his mouth. The suddenness of that thought and how it made his mouth water embarrassed Tom, and he had to look away. He hadn't done that for Bill, but he thought he might like to.

"You can," Bill promised, gripping Tom's fingers and getting to his feet. "Let's go find out how soon, okay?"

The tattoo artist looked up from adjusting a radio dial as Tom and Bill re-entered the front of the shop. He gave them a friendly smile and handed over packets of ointment to Bill, elaborating on the maintenance of his new tattoo, and giving him skin care tips that made Bill nod as Tom shifted beside him from one foot to the other, winding his fingers around Bill's to avoid reaching out and stroking for the tattoo that was peeking out at him, black tips outlined in red-inflamed skin.

He had to keep it covered with ointment, or Vaseline in a pinch, for the first week. Over the first few days he'd have to keep it applied every few hours to keep the skin well coated.

Tom could touch it to apply the ointment, was what he got out of the lecture, but no actual touching until at least a week had gone by. Bill was cautioned to be careful with it until the skin had healed, because it was a fairly big tattoo in a tricky area. The artist told him to avoid scratching it whatsoever, to avoid flaking the ink off during the initial week or so.

"I hope you absorbed everything you needed regarding the care and feeding," Tom told him, tugging at Bill's hand as they left the shop and fell into step beside one another as they continued up the narrow, dusty strip of concrete that bordered the street. "All I could do was keep staring at your hot little body."

Bill grinned over at him and pinched at his ribs. "What? You mean you're not going to take care of it for me?"

"Oh, I've got something to take care of," Tom leered, stepping close enough to deliver a kiss to Bill's full mouth, but abstaining for now.

Bill's eyes rounded and he looked from side to side, then over Tom's shoulder, then whispered, "Not right out here in the open."

"Lunch," Tom concluded, and arched a brow at Bill. "What were you thinking of? Perv. I'm starved." He expected his stomach to grumble at any second.

"Oh," Bill said, and leaned into and against Tom. "Too bad." He groped down below Tom's belt, palming his cock through his swim trunks, then grinned when Tom stared at him slack-jawed.

" _You_ said later--" Tom began, as Bill sashayed up the sidewalk away from him, snickering.

"Come on," Bill told him. "You wanted lunch before we get back to the ship, right? I'm hungry, too." His eyes glinted and he crooked a finger.

Tom was pretty sure he'd follow him anywhere, but had the sense not to open his mouth and say so.

They found a tiny restaurant perched on a stone quay that had a view of both the sprawling beach they'd visited, and the immense ship weighed at anchor off the long pier nearby. Bill settled into a chair that he scooted right beside Tom's and kept a hand on his knee as they shared a menu and Tom wanted to press his nose into Bill's hair, nuzzle into the scents of sun-kissed skin and lotion rising from beneath his ear. Across the way, Michael was settled at his own table, sunglasses and book in place, and every time Tom caught side of the bodyguard there was a faint smile on his face.

In another era, Tom would have given the man the finger and shifted his position at the table until he couldn't see that look anymore. Now, Tom was happy and he didn't give a damn who knew it.

"Tom...how are we going to do this?" Bill asked abruptly as they waited for drinks and the appetizer to be served. He was rubbing Tom's knee as he said it, though, so the tone didn't flick raw as it might have.

Tom raised a brow. "We're going to have lunch, I'm going to rub ointment all over that new tattoo of yours while I try not to blow my wad--"

"—you'd better not!" Bill exclaimed, indignant. "I'd have to clean it off, after, and I don't want to put any pressure on it that might make it flake."

Tom grinned. "Well, I guess I could lick it off..."

"You wouldn't," Bill said, but looked uncertain.

Tom tipped a shoulder to the side in a half-shrug and kissed the flesh on Bill's shoulder beside one black tank top strap. "Guess we're not going to find out?"

"Mm," Bill said, and bit his lip. "Maybe later. How are we going to do this, Tom?"

"Which part?" Tom said, after a moment of consideration. The question could be referring to anything from the position Bill was in the mood for that afternoon to Bill's proposed trip to New York City, pending the acquisition of property.

"After the cruise," Bill said, and his hand kept stroking over Tom's knee, nails gently teasing at the skin beside Tom's sensitive kneecap.

"We'll swap your ticket, and you'll come home with me..."

Bill began to shake his head.

"You don't want to come home with me?" Tom asked, and there was no way that question was coming out without sounding pathetic. He was kind of glad he hadn't tried.

"Oh, babe; it's not that, of course I want to come home with you," Bill said.

Tom nosed at his shoulder again, then sat up straight when the waiter delivered their drinks and appetizer.

"Thought you said I couldn't be your babe," he recalled, grabbing for the first chip and scooping up salsa.

"No, I said I couldn't be _your_ babe, and I was wrong," Bill replied, abandoning his hold on Tom's knee to go for his share of the chips and salsa.

"Thank God," Tom said, "because I couldn't think of another nickname that wasn't kind of offensive."

Bill laughed, munched his chip and licked his fingers, then patted Tom's knee again. "All I meant was, I don't need the finer details, like...am I staying with you, because of course I'm staying with you."

"Like I'd let you check into a hotel," Tom scoffed.

Bill nodded; polished off another chip. "Do you tour a lot? I can put off a few things in the short term, but..."

"Every few years," Tom replied. "Whenever we have a new album out. We've got the VMAs next month and we've finished up a round of press for the last single from our previous album."

Bill nodded, his dark eyes alert. "So you do a lot of traveling."

"Yeah...kind of, I guess," Tom replied. He tried to count up all the hotels he'd been checked into and out of during the past year and lost track. It was only September. "I figure, maybe...I mean, you're a writer, you could travel with me?"

Bill set his sharp chin on one hand. "I'm a travelogue writer, Tom. I go where the company sends me, and write about what locales they want to feature next."

"So...what, you're not going to be able to commute, is that what you're saying?" Tom said weakly. He pushed the chips toward Bill, losing his appetite but going for the rum and coke instead.

Bill shook his head. "I'll have to think about it," he said quietly. He looked out across the quay, and dipped a chip through the salsa several times before abandoning it with a sigh, and petted Tom's knee again. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

Tom knotted his brow and looked down at Bill's hand. It was easy enough to be how he wanted with Bill here, beside him. He was pretty sure it was too soon to say anything like 'move in with me,' although it was promising enough that Bill even wanted to come home with him, after the cruise.

"When's your next commitment?" Bill wanted to know.

Tom grabbed for the chip that Bill had left to drown in salsa, and excavated it before popping it absently into his mouth. "Not for a while. I mean, we've got some stuff here and there, nothing major. I don't have what I'd call a busy schedule for the rest of this year. A few studio days, a few engagements."

"So you could travel with me," Bill said, giving him an amused smirk.

Tom put his head to the side, compensating yet again for the lack of hair he expected to drag him down. "Yeah, I...yeah. I mean, whenever I can." He wished he could be so easy about it. He opened his mouth, shut it, and dredged another chip through the salsa. It was tasty, with enough zing that he actually wanted to keep eating it. "We're gonna spend a lot of time apart, aren't we?"

Bill's lips quirked. "We both have jobs that take us all over the place." He rubbed his hand back and forth over Tom's knee again as he said it.

That was no good; Tom wanted to pull their chairs closer together, wind an arm around Bill and tuck him close. He wanted the simple reassurance from Bill that they would be together when this interlude, their vacation, was over.

"You could take up writing jobs that weren't in the travelogue industry?" Tom suggested, wincing as he said it. It was ridiculously presumptuous of him, and yet he was having trouble picturing his life the way it had been before, fitting Bill into the empty stretches of the way he had been. Commuting, and spending half their time calling and Skyping from hotel rooms, and going to bed alone without the warmth of Bill pressed full-length against his side. "Your company could always find another travelogue writer, right?"

"Or you could go into early retirement," Bill countered, lifting his chin. His fingernails tightened on Tom's knee, though not hard enough to scratch. "Your group could always find another guitarist."

"Touché," Tom muttered. He lowered his eyes as their server delivered their meals. Sandwich and thickly cut fries for Tom; some kind of traditional island fish for Bill. As Bill poked his tender fish into pieces with his fork, Tom picked at his sandwich and kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye.

"Out with it," Bill mumbled at last, around a mouthful.

"It's not going to be the same," Tom said, toying with a fry then wiping his hand off on his napkin.

Bill's hand returned to his knee. "Of course it's not going to be the same," he returned at once. "We'll be going back to the real world. We won't be on vacation anymore."

Tom nodded, fixing his eyes on the faraway horizon, past the ship and beyond the clouds. What he was most afraid of, he thought, was going back and finding that his life was still the same, he was the same, as though the time he'd spent with Bill had never been.

"It's like...when this is over, it's _over_ ," Tom said at last. "And you'll be gone. I don't..."

"That's not going to happen," Bill said, reaching over for him, and Tom shifted restlessly, wiping his hand on his napkin again to take the hand that Bill offered. They could touch as much as they liked but it wasn't enough. "I mean, yes, the vacation will be over, but it's not like I'm going to drop out of your life, right?"

"But it's not going to be easy, the way it is now," Tom realized aloud. "It's not like I can wake up every day and you'll be there." He shook his head.

"We're..." Bill started, stopped, and scraped his fork over his plate again. "If we're twins..."

"That's a pretty big 'if,'" Tom interrupted.

"If we're twins," Bill began again, glaring at him as though daring him to cut him off again, "then it doesn't matter how far, or how long we're apart. You know? We're together no matter what."

Tom shook his head even as he laced his fingers with Bill's again over his knee. "Can't it be that way, even if we're not?" He was desperate, sweating. It wasn't fair. What Bill was saying hung over his head like an axe and the only thing that kept it from falling was the thinnest thread, the suspension of his belief.

Bill's eyes lowered. "Yes, of course."

"Want to have dinner at your table again tonight?" Tom offered, anxious to change the subject. He took a bite of his sandwich at last, and found his appetite restored. He was pretty sure he could demolish the whole thing in a couple of large bites.

Bill laughed. "With the people who think we're married?"

Tom sighed through his nose. "Maybe it would be easier if we were," he said evasively.

Bill's eyes went wide. "What, married?" He laughed; a quick, nervous burst of sound.

"You can't prove we're related," Tom challenged him.

Bill pulled his hand away, leaving Tom's cold and empty. He picked up his fork and attacked his spiced fish. "Maybe I can't," he said, wielding his fork against the fish until it fell apart completely. "I'm sure as hell not calling my father. He'd only hang up on me before telling me a damned thing."

Tom stared out at the water beyond the quay and wished he hadn't brought it up.

"What about you?" Bill asked. "You must have something...I mean, there would be records, right? Your mother..."

"That's an absolute no go," Tom said flatly. "Any documents she had, anywhere, are off limits to me now." He set his fists on the tabletop.

After a moment, Bill let out a quiet breath and ventured, "Why?"

Tom shook his head, abandoning his sandwich for lost. "I don't want you to hate me," he said, trying to pull away. He couldn't even stand to think about it, himself; how would Bill react?

"Tom, I'm not going to hate you," Bill told him, reaching for him.

Tom shook his head again, wordless, the tight frustrated anxiety welling up inside of him, the sense of worthlessness that he'd kept caged, at bay for so long. _Don't think about the past and it can't hurt you,_ had been the way he'd lived for so long. "I can't," he said at last, his throat closed and the word squeezing past with grudging allowance.

"Something happened?" Bill guessed. His hand was so warm on Tom's suddenly chilled arm.

"A long time ago," Tom replied, keeping his eyes on the water that lapped and splashed against the quay. "When my mom died."

"I'm sorry," Bill said, tone subdued. His hand went up and down Tom's arm again, a silent offer of comfort. "You don't have to tell me."

They finished their lunch in silence, then Bill stood unexpectedly and hugged Tom against his side. "It's okay," he said. His hand combed through Tom's short, dark blond hair. "Whatever happened, it's over and done."

Tom sighed and nuzzled his cheek against Bill's sternum. The panic fluttered up inside of him, beating frantic wings against his stomach and making him want to throw up. "I..." he began, then stopped. He couldn't.

"Might feel better if you talk about it," Bill murmured, his fingers stroking soothing patterns through Tom's hair.

Or he could lose everything, Tom knew. The way that he already had, once.

"But you don't have to," Bill continued.

"I..." Tom started and stopped again. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Bill looked at him, asked no questions and nodded.

Tom threw down more than enough money to cover the bill and a huge tip and they left the restaurant, strolling up the quay side by side. Bill reached out to touch Tom with his fingertips every now and then, as though making sure he was still there. They were quiet again, as though Bill had imparted Tom's mood, or recognized it and was simply waiting.

"I left her," Tom said, leaning up against the metal railing that divided the quay from the stones, providing a breaker for the water below.

Bill said nothing, only stood beside Tom, head cocked in a listening pose.

"She had cancer, and I left," Tom continued. He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. "Those last few years, I was barely there. She was sick and every time I went back, there was less and less to go back to."

"Tom," Bill said, low. He touched Tom's arm; not a caress, but the simple contact to let him know that he was there.

Lowering his head, Tom closed his eyes. "I didn't want to deal, I guess," he said. "I mean, I called her. That was fine. She still sounded...normal. Sometimes even cheerful. Then she stopped answering the phone, and Gordon would pick up and tell me what a shitty son I was, because I wasn't there."

Bill's hand circled Tom's upper arm and his fingers tightened there, but he said nothing.

Tom shook his head and expelled another heavy sigh. "I didn't know what to do."

"How old were you?" Bill asked.

"Nineteen," Tom said.

"Fuck, Tom, what were you supposed to do?" Bill burst out. "What did he expect you to do?"

"Be there," Tom said simply.

"And you were, what, in college?" Bill guessed.

"No, we were...we were on our first tour," Tom said, wavering as Bill slipped an arm around him. He leaned into it at last, craving the contact. "A ton of small venues and interview after interview, as many as our manager could schedule. So many photoshoots I got sick of the sight of my own face."

"You were touring even back then?" Bill said after a moment. "And your step-father expected you to drop out and be there?"

"Yeah," Tom said.

"I could understand taking a sabbatical from school, I mean, there's academic deferments for situations like that," Bill began. "But...he expected you to, what, quit the band?"

"He thought it was messing around," Tom said. "He didn't think it would ever amount to anything big, I guess." He gave a short, bitter laugh.

Bill set his head on Tom's shoulder and said nothing.

"I talked to Andreas about dropping out," Tom said. "Or spending more time at home. It all came down to money. Fucking money. I would've had to pay to get out of my contract. Back then, we never had enough money; just enough to scrape by. And every cent we made, it seemed, we were pouring right back into the fucking band. Equipment. Venue costs. Air time. Production fees."

"And you couldn't get home," Bill said.

It wasn't an accusation, but Tom took it as such. "There was never enough time," he said softly, the words barely escaping him. "Never enough money. And now I fucking...I've got enough to fucking burn. But not then. Not when she needed it."

"Come here," Bill said, tugging at his arm.

Tom fought him, but Bill drew him into his arms.

"You were there," Bill guessed. His hand cradled the back of Tom's head.

"For the last few days," Tom said, voice raw. His eyes smarted but he refused to shut them. "But not enough."

"Tom, it's not your fault," Bill said.

"You don't..." Tom began, and his throat closed. "I wasn't there. She was sick, and she needed me, and I wasn't there."

Bill sighed. "I think...you were there when she really needed you," he said. "Did she ever complain? Her, not him."

"...No," Tom admitted after a moment. "She said she was sorry she couldn't make it to my concerts." His throat closed again and he rested his head against Bill's shoulder.

"It's okay," Bill soothed, stroking at his nape, nails teasing through his hair. "It's okay, Tom. You were there. See? She loved you, she wanted you to be happy...I bet she was proud."

Tom shook his head. "Wasn't there enough." He hugged Bill tightly, hard enough that it probably hurt, but Bill didn't even squeak.

"You were there when it mattered," Bill countered. He kept stroking through Tom's hair. "You're her son, Tom. Not her husband, bound to care for her in sickness and in health. You had your own life and your own obligations and you were there when you could be. And that's a lot...that's an awful lot to pin on a teenager, don't you think?"

All Tom could do was shake and thank whatever giddy coincidence - or indirect result of managerial whim - had brought Bill into his life.

"I don't know," Tom said at last. "I'll always wish I'd done more."

Bill drew back and took Tom's face in his hands. "But what's done is done," he replied.

"Yeah," Tom said, blinking. His eyes still stung, but he thought he had it contained, now. He hated seeming vulnerable in front of Bill, and yet he didn't. There was a strange sense of comfort he took simply from Bill's presence. "Yeah, but...I can't go home again."

"Because of your step-father?" Bill guessed.

Tom dipped his head. "He took everything," he said roughly. "And said don't bother coming back. Ever." There was more, and it wanted to spill out of him like poison from a wound. The voicemails that Gordon had left, the letter from the lawyer after Simone had died, finding out so matter-of-factly on one of his infrequent visits home that Gordon had been cheating on her, when Simone had been too exhausted and run down from chemotherapy treatments to work, or cook, or keep the house clean, let alone have sex.

"Tomi," Bill said, small and tight, and in his voice were the tears that Tom had refused to shed. 

"It's okay," Tom said, stroking Bill's hair in turn. "It's okay, because...I have you."

The loud, sonorous boom of the ship's horn thundered over the quay, making Bill startle and jerk in Tom's arms. When the drawn-out peal of it had faded, they disentangled to resume their walk up the quay. Bill reached out and took Tom's hand in a way that would brook no refusal.

"So you can't get at them, any documents your mother might have had that would prove..." Bill began.

"Or disprove," Tom filled in.

Bill cast him a knowing glance. "Yes, or disprove," he said. His hand convulsed in Tom's. "So you couldn't even contact him...for this?"

"I don't think he'd talk to me," Tom said, rubbing at his nape with a sigh. His jaw hardened. "Besides, as much as he's never going to forgive me, there are things I can't forgive, either."

Bill nodded. "Like me and my father," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Tomi."

"Sorry for what?" Tom asked, flicking his lip with his tongue.

"I keep thinking if we could get this settled, one way or another, it would ease your mind," Bill said. They turned from the quay onto the narrow sidewalk that would lead them back to the pier.

Tom frowned. He didn't want to tell Bill, again, that as far as he was concerned it was already settled. "You never did say what you wanted to do for dinner," he said instead.

Bill snorted, then hip-checked him, bouncing his left hip against Tom's right.

"Hey!" Tom exclaimed. "What...?"

"Things were getting far too serious," he claimed, and bumped against Tom again. "Come on, let's ask Michael to take a picture of the two of us, with the beach in the background."

"Ugh," Tom grumbled, but he already knew he was going to comply. "You'd better e-mail me all of these pictures."

They had to endure the queue to board the ship again and Bill remained glued to Tom's side. He touched him almost constantly, their thighs brushing in a long line or their shoulders bumping, a hand squeezing on Tom's hip or stroking over his arm. Tom decided he could get used to it, then remembered with a pang that it was the eighth day, and they'd be off the ship far too soon.

"We'll eat dinner at my table tonight," Bill decided with a firm nod, after they'd passed the checkpoint.

Tom raised his brows. "With all those people that think we're married?"

Bill grinned back at him faintly, tugging Tom along with him for the stairs. "I'm going to make an honest man out of you, Trümper."

"You think it's possible?" Tom said, and fortunately for him, they both ignored the wistfulness in his tone.

Bill dragged him off the stairwell at the third deck. "To stop at the ship's commissary," he explained, when Tom gave him a puzzled frown.

"What for?"

"Condoms," Bill said, and managed not to blush.

"Oh," Tom mumbled. "I knew we should've talked about it..."

"Talked about what?" Bill slanted him a curious glance. "Oh, this morning? I don't regret it, if that's what you mean."

"It was really good," Tom said, ducking his head. "Really, really good." He wanted to ask if they could do it again, that way, but Bill's suggested purchase was his answer.

"I think we should do it again," Bill stage-whispered, as though in answer to that thought. "But we should both get tested first, don't you think? After we disembark."

"Yeah," Tom said, and nodded like it was a matter of course. He knew he was technically in the high risk category, but he'd always been so careful, and he certainly didn't bang as many women as he'd claimed. It had all seemed like so much effort for such little return. Then what Bill had said really registered. "Oh, my god, we're going to do it again?"

Bill looked around furtively, then stretched over to press a kiss to Tom's jaw. "Like crazy lust-drunk sex-deprived creatures," he said. "I like to really feel you in there. Is that weird?"

Mouth dry, Tom leaned in to return the gesture, but Bill was already marching up the hall toward the ship's commissary. Tom was pretty sure that his dick was leading the way as he followed.

They returned to Tom's stateroom after their purchase and put it to immediate use. As it turned out, the bed was the perfect height for Bill to kneel and be penetrated as Tom stood at the foot of the bed and tried to find a grip that didn't put unwanted pressure on the newness of Bill's hip tattoo. He ended up grabbing Bill's narrow waist as he pumped into him, their groans splitting the air, their sweaty bodies smacking together until Bill screamed and writhed under him and came all over the coverlet that hadn't even been turned down.

"On my face, Tomi, you can come on my face," Bill urged, and Tom peeled the condom off and Bill stroked him into his mouth until Tom cried out and spilled his load onto Bill's sinfully swollen lips. The rest went onto his chin, dripped over his chest, and Bill simply moaned and tongued at the head of Tom's dick until he had to pull away, gathering him up into an exhausted hug instead.

When they cleaned and showered afterward, Tom thought for sure that one or the other of them would need some space, some time alone to decompress, be by themselves and mull over everything that had happened. It was a lot to take in, everything that had passed between them in the past few days, and Tom thought in one way Bill might be right; he still hadn't processed everything. There had been a complete and total shift in his worldview.

He found himself _not_ wanting space, not wanting Bill to be apart from him, and was relieved when Bill didn't propose it. They napped on the chairs on Tom's veranda and got ready for dinner together, going from one cabin to the other, as Bill chattered about the evening's itinerary and what was left to do on the cruise. At some point, whatever damage Bill had done to his cabin had been repaired so that Tom didn't notice any difference. Tom seated himself on the couch in Bill's stateroom and watched the sight of Bill applying makeup with a steady hand.

"And there's a comedian on the main stage tonight, an international star supposedly; Tasha was saying he was a real coup of a booking," Bill continued on his catalogue of events for that evening and beyond.

"I'd rather spend the evening with you, in bed," Tom said frankly, and it was a real effort of will not to tongue at his lip ring and give Bill a heated look when Bill's eyes glanced his way in the mirror. "Or in the pool. Or the hot tub. Oh, god, the hot tub..."

"No way, we're not doing it in the hot tub," Bill exclaimed, but he sounded intrigued. "I mean...there's too many people around. No matter how late it is, there's always someone up, even if it's just staff."

"Not in relaxation suite, with the hydro-pool," Tom said with a sly glance, reaching up to tug at his ear.

Bill made eyes at him in the mirror, lowering his eyeshadow brush. "You want to have sex in the water, Tomi?"

"Don't you?" Tom countered, and now he tongued his piercing.

Bill's affected innocence dissolved into an impish grin. "Condoms and water-based lube won't do us much good in a hot tub," he observed.

"We don't have to do penetration," Tom said. He tried to leer but he was enjoying the sight of Bill getting ready far too much. He would strip all of those clothes off later, from the gradient jeans that were so fine they didn't even look like denim to the burgundy leather vest over a short-sleeved gold top. "I just want to fool around with you in a hot tub."

"Mm," Bill murmured, and it wasn't a no.

That was all the answer Tom needed, for now.


	15. Chapter 15

Dinner was a quiet, understated affair in the dining room at Bill's table where the other couples greeted them with smiles and no one questioned their alleged nuptials, not even the skeptical grey-mustached man that Tom recalled from the other night. Bill was fussed over for having dropped out of sight the few nights previous. For Tom, the evening passed in a blur of delicious food, watching the bright smile etched in Bill's profile, and sopping up a not inconsiderable amount of wine. If he'd been driving, Michael would have taken his keys away.

No one commented on their resemblance and by the time Tom steered Bill out of the golden light of the dining room, past the clink of silver against china and the shimmering throw cast by chandeliers, Tom was already considering the night a success. Still, he had plans.

Big plans.

He managed to coax Bill to accompany him upstairs to the spa, where the manager was off duty but the girl tending the desk was able to sell two passes to the relaxation suite. Michael settled himself on a chair in the waiting area with his book and gave them a thumb's-up. They traded their stateroom cards for locker keys and Bill, giggling softly and probably more than a little drunk, led Tom to the far corner of the austere changing room to suck on his neck in the guise of 'helping' Tom to slip out of his clothes and into the terrycloth spa robe. When a bathroom attendant showed up, as Tom knew one inevitably would, Tom tipped him an obscene amount to stay out of the relaxation suite until eleven, which was when everything in the day spa area officially closed.

"Ohhh," Bill exhaled, entering the room before Tom and taking a deep breath of the lavender-scented air.

Tom pulled the door shut after him and put a hand to Bill's neck, sweeping dark hair away to one side. He set a kiss there. "You want to go into the hot tub? It's one room over."

Bill arched a dark brow over his shoulder at Tom. "I remember, they gave me the tour, too," he said. "When I checked in for my massage." He lifted a hand to Tom's face, running his fingers through the short hair at the temples in an already-familiar gesture.

Tom leaned his face into Bill's touch, closing his eyes. "I can change it," he said, and opened his eyes to Bill's tentative, thoughtful smile.

"It's up to you," Bill said, giving a tiny head shake. "Whatever makes you happy, Tom. I miss having something to tug on, that's all."

"During sex," Tom guessed, raising a brow.

"Mm-hmm," Bill said, and moved toward the far end of the room, stripping off his robe and leaving himself in only his trunks. He laid a towel out over the nearest tiled couch and glanced at Tom with a hint of a grin before settling himself on the warmed surface.

"But, the hot tub," Tom said plaintively.

"Later," Bill assured him, stretching out and closing his eyes.

Tom regarded him with a bemused smile for a moment before running a hand over the iridescent tiles of the couch beside Bill's. It was hot to the touch, so much so that he snatched his fingers back after only a moment. Bill had the right idea, laying a towel out over the hot couch before he climbed on.

After grabbing one of the many towels from one of the stacked pyramids in the corner, Tom laid himself out on the warm couch beside Bill and looked around for a moment, inspecting his surroundings. The room was quiet, but for the plink of water over stones from the centrally-located fountain in the room – four old-fashioned crank faucets distributed an unceasing trickle of water into a basin that had been heaped with smooth quartz stones in shades of slate gray, rose, and marbled white. The couches faced a floor to ceiling window several meters long that opened out onto the darkness of the sea, where there was no distinction between water and black sky. Flanking the window there were a few palms in low pots glazed in swirls of color.

Tom closed his eyes, meaning only to rest a moment with his replete stomach and the lingering swirl of alcohol in his veins.

He sighed through his nose and blinked at the light touch to his shoulder, looking up and over to see Bill smiling beside him. Tom blinked again; he hadn't even heard Bill get up and move around.

"Hey," Bill said, stroking his arm and shoulder. He bent over Tom and nuzzled against his neck and jawline.

"Hey," Tom responded, lifting a hand to grip at the base of Bill's neck. "Do we have to leave?"

Bill shook his head into Tom's neck. "No, you were only out for about ten minutes. Want to hot tub with me?"

Tom made a noise of assent and slipped off the couch, leaving his towel behind him. "Want to turn up the jets and go skinny dipping?"

Bill looked around furtively.

"The attendant's not going to bother us, and everyone is at the – what was it? Tonight's revue," Tom predicted. "It's been ten minutes and no one else has come in, right?"

Bill produced a dubious noise, but nodded. His black-manicured hands went down to his boxers, running them down his trim hips, calling attention to the newness of the dark star riding the right one.

"Wait, what about your tattoo?" Tom recalled, when he was done staring at it dumbly, picturing rubbing his cock all over it.

"I've got a packet of the ointment in my robe," Bill told him, and slanted him an inviting look. "C'mon, Tomi. You want to fool around in the hot tub, right?" He stepped toward the inner door of the relaxation suite, hands pushing his boxers further and further down as he went.

"Uh-huh," Tom replied intelligently, following the lure of Bill's ass as more and more of it was exposed.

The hydro-pool suite in the next room was deserted. The water began to shimmer as Bill twisted the wall timer, then bubbles erupted softly, boiling over as Bill tossed aside his trunks and stepped down into the water, gripping the rail to ease himself in.

Tom grinned and tossed his trunks atop Bill's, hurrying after.

The hot tub was wide enough to seat four normal-sized people, which meant it was just about right for two tall, rangy men grappling from one side to the other. Tom tipped himself right into Bill's lap and laughed as his lover hooked an arm around him, making as though to dip him into the water.

"No water fights, the tub's too small," Tom told him, hooking an ankle around Bill's nevertheless. If he was going down, then Bill was coming with him.

"I wouldn't," Bill said, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief.

They settled in a comfortable sprawl across the bench, jets pounding into their backs and the undersides of their legs, and Bill dropped his hand into Tom's lap.

"I don't think we should do it in here," Bill said.

"Your hand's on my dick," Tom protested. "Don't _say_ that if you're giving me a hand job."

Bill's amber-brown eyes glinted over at him. "That's not a hand job, Tom; that's me being proprietary."

"So it's your dick, now?" Tom said, raising a brow.

"Mm-hmm," Bill purred, swarming closer in the roiling water. "And _this_ is me giving you a hand job."

Tom groaned and his head tipped back against the rim of the hot tub as Bill's hand moved over him with purpose, shaping his desire. "Oh, god...you can have it; it's yours."

Bill snorted, lips closing over Tom's Adam's apple. All the while his hand gripped and flexed in all the right ways. "I don't want to get come in the water," he whispered into Tom's ear, before sucking the lobe into his mouth and tonguing it. He moved in the water, climbing into Tom's lap.

Tom pushed his hips up, reaching around to grab Bill's ass and make him moan and tense against Tom as he ground their bodies together. "I said I wanted to fool around in the hot tub," Tom said, stringing words together with difficulty. Bill's tongue plying his ear was hell on his concentration. "Doesn't mean...unh!...doesn't mean we have to get each other off. Yet."

"Mm," Bill mumbled against his mouth, and kissed him again.

They kissed and rubbed their lips together as Tom stroked over Bill's back and cupped his ass, unable to keep running his hands over and around Bill's water-slicked body. The water churned around them and made everything dreamlike, fantastic. Tom couldn't get enough of Bill's mouth and Bill brought it back into range again and again, bobbing in Tom's lap as though they were already joined.

"Come here," Tom mumbled against Bill's parted lips, getting a hand around both their cocks and stroking them together.

Bill shuddered against him. "Noo," he moaned, rubbing his body against Tom's.

"Not good?" Tom said, but the way Bill was moving against Tom, he wasn't really worried on that score.

"Shh," Bill said, and mashed his lips against Tom's again.

Tom tried to nod, but Bill had a good grip on the back of his head and they began to make out again, lips opening and tongues meeting in lazy swipes. Between the water surging around their bodies and the velvety-slick cock against his, Tom was pretty sure he'd come before he even realized.

Bill pulled away, at long last, and Tom tried to follow with a noise of protest. A palm was set to his mouth and Tom wrinkled his nose, licking at Bill's fingers.

"Eww, Tom!" Bill exclaimed, splashing away from him in the close confines of the tub.

"Everything that we've done, and _that's_ what you think is gross," Tom said with a laugh, grabbing Bill around the waist. They fell back together, wrestling as Bill struggled; ending up twining round one another again with Tom in Bill's lap the second time around.

Tom grinned down at Bill's shadowed face and downcast eyes, his full mouth turned up at one corner in a secretive smile. He caught his breath as Bill looked up through wet lashes to meet his gaze.

"I love you," Tom said, struck by it all over again.

Bill's quick smile was so wide and stunning that it made Tom take a soft breath of sheer admiration. That this beautiful man could proclaim himself Tom's; that Tom wanted him more than anything, placed him even above his own next heartbeat, was endlessly amazing.

"Good," Bill told him, and tightened his grip on Tom's ass, settling him down across Bill's thighs until their bellies pressed together, folding his arms around Tom's neck and shoulders. He raised his mouth to Tom's and kissed him breathless, and even when he pulled away to let them inhale Tom wanted more. "I don't want anyone but you."

Tom nodded silently, pressing another kiss to Bill's mouth, to his philtrum, over his upper lip then sucking the bottom lip into his mouth. His heart was not just full but expanding.

"We have to get out, though," Bill said, clutching at Tom's shoulders as though trying to prevent him from moving, nonetheless. "I'm getting all pruny."

"This isn't pruny," Tom observed, sliding a hand between them.

Bill yelped, then he moaned. He breathed hard against Tom's cheek and fingernails scraped over Tom's shoulder blades when Tom didn't let up.

The water stilled around them as though a switch had been flipped and Tom grinned, leaned in and kissed Bill's slack mouth, and got to his feet. He trailed his fingers over Bill's length as he released him.

"Who said you could get up?" Bill murmured, his eyelashes fluttering open.

Tom shook his head, backing away as he headed for the steps and rail that led out of the hot tub. " _Someone_ said we're not getting off here, so..."

Bill groaned and pushed himself upright, making the water ripple and slosh around them. He snatched his trunks up as he followed Tom.

"Sauna?" Tom offered, grabbing his own swim trunks and robe as they returned to the other, equally deserted area of the relaxation suite.

"Shower, first," Bill proclaimed.

They left their things in a heap on the wooden bench outside the sauna and crowded into a shower stall together. Bill was radiant and grinning like a nut, slathering Tom with three different kinds of aromatherapy gel and wrapping a suds-covered hand around his cock. He slipped away like a seal whenever Tom tried to pin him against the wall, or his own body.

Tom retaliated by teasing at Bill's nipples with the pads of his fingertips until they poked stiff through a thin veil of suds. He tugged on the silver ring through Bill's left nipple, making Bill moan and press hard against him, kissing him open-mouthed and getting water spray all over their faces. They moved together until Tom was pretty sure they'd come where they stood, but Bill plied the shower nozzle against him with an unexpected burst of laughter and slipped free.

Cursing, Tom shut the shower down and followed Bill's wet footprints and the glimpse of his bare ass and endless legs disappearing into the sauna. A puff of steam escaped. Tom inhaled briefly, identifying the odor of peppermint and something else. He grabbed his towel from the tiled couch and entered the sauna.

Thick, humid heat embraced him and he inhaled. The peppermint scent was strong in his nose here, almost enough to make it tingle. Bill was sprawled naked full-length on one of two wooden benches that lined the walls to either side of the door. Across from Tom, a small tiled basin was bubbling over with water, providing a muted counterpoint to the quiet hiss of steam.

"Scoot over," Tom said, looking at the bench opposite Bill and deciding there was no reason for him to use it.

"Make me," Bill replied lazily.

Tom shrugged and sat on Bill's legs, making him yelp and rearrange himself. He flailed at Tom, who caught at his arms and drew Bill in for a kiss. Bill melted against him at once, opening his mouth to Tom's exploring tongue and nestling against him with a little moan as Tom ran a hand over Bill's naked body.

"You feel so good," Tom whispered to him, stroking down over Bill's supple skin, damp from the shower and now the heat of the sauna.

"Mm," Bill responded, rubbing his mouth against Tom's then slipping him tongue.

They made out as the steam wrapped curls of moist heat around them. Tom shifted his grip from Bill's waist and hip on down between his thighs, tugging on Bill's erect cock. Bill reached for him and his noises grew increasingly desperate. He hitched closer to Tom on the bench and thumbed at Tom's nipples, swirled a finger around his navel, and wrapped a hand around Tom's hardness and pumped. Tom pressed his tongue into the trembling heat of Bill's mouth and couldn't get enough. He was warm, so warm; even the barbell of his tongue stud rubbed hotly against Tom's lips and tongue.

Bill whimpered against his mouth as they kissed harder, tongues striving in the most thrilling dance and it was so close but not quite enough. The cock in Tom's fingers jerked and he'd had enough.

"Get up," Tom commanded, and kissed Bill's ear. He pictured Bill slung over his thighs while their mouths joined, cocks pressed together. He could come that way, he knew for sure. He wanted so much that anything Bill gave him was nothing short of amazing.

Bill pulled away, nodding heavily, his eyes incandescent in his shadowed face and his wet lips parted. Instead of getting into Tom's lap, though, he twisted around on the wooden bench and got his knees under himself, lifting and presenting his ass to Tom.

"Oh, my god," Tom choked out, low and reverent. His higher brain functions flickered and dimmed as he was seized with the primal urge to get up behind Bill and mount him.

He was actually on his knees behind Bill when reason reasserted itself as he cast around for something to put on his cock to ease the way. There was nothing; nothing but water, anyhow, and water was most decidedly not a lubricant. Tom pressed his cock against one of Bill's softly-rounded cheeks with a moan and enjoyed the way Bill leaned back against him, breath speeding with anticipation.

"Tom, I need you," Bill uttered, strained.

Tom nodded, panting as he bent over Bill's back. He pressed kisses to Bill's tailbone and flicked his tongue out, dipping it into the well at the base of Bill's spine.

He was so clean; smelled so good. They had just showered. And Bill was completely hairless even down there, everywhere.

His tongue lapped out almost before he could think and he licked down into the cleft between Bill's cheeks. Bill cried out, withdrawing for a second before pressing back against him, reaching back with a hand to spread himself open for Tom.

"Mmm," Tom hummed, nosing deeper into Bill's crack. He'd never done this for anyone before; never thought about it, never imagined he'd want to. Now he chased the taste of Bill down to the entrance of his body, licked and nibbled his way down there, and enjoyed the way Bill quivered as he laved his tongue down through the crease of his ass. He made love to Bill's closed-up little bud with his lips and tongue until Bill was panting and shaking, moaning for more as he braced his lowered head on his arms and pushed his ass back onto Tom's face.

Tom licked around the delicate crease and formed a point with his tongue, thrusting into Bill, barely breaching him with the tip. Bill cried out and thrust his hips downward, jolting away from, then against Tom's face again. Tom pressed soothing kisses against that hot, hot flesh and thrust his tongue in again, as far as it would go. He did it again and again and had to grab at Bill's thighs to prevent him from bucking like a wild thing.

"Ahh, ahhh," Bill moaned, quivering against him. "Ahh, more, I need..." He broke off, either frustrated or overwhelmed as Tom licked into him again and again, pursuing the taste of pure clean Bill.

He licked and sucked around Bill's entrance until it was swollen and twitching and Bill was practically sobbing beneath him, held up only by Tom's grip on his thighs. Tom stuck two fingers in his mouth and got them good and wet, then prodded at the little hole that opened up so readily for him. He eased two in as Bill groaned and hitched himself back against Tom, begging wordlessly for more. Then Tom reached around Bill's sweat-dewed hip and grasped his cock, jerking it roughly as he thrust his fingers in.

As he twisted his fingers down and around, Bill cried out loud and hoarsely, shooting his first spurt of come without warning. His cock jerked in Tom's other hand and he cried out again. Tom kissed over the curve of Bill's backside, his ass, drawing his fingers out and petting Bill with a soothing hand. He pulled Bill into his arms, head resting back against his shoulder, as Bill spent the rest of his climax in Tom's hand and over the boards of the sauna.

"Should've put a towel down," Tom mumbled, but he didn't really care. The stain was someone else's problem.

Bill panted in his arms and pushed Tom's hand off his cock before wriggling around. He was positively glowing.

"I love you," Bill told him, breathless, his eyes shining. He crawled into Tom's lap and framed his face with both hands.

"Good," Tom returned, and licked his own bottom lip. He remembered the slight tug of his lip ring as he'd sucked on Bill's hole. He wondered how that had felt; if it had been good or weird, or secondary to Tom's tongue plunging in there.

Still grinning, Bill leaned forward to press their mouths together.

"You can't," Tom protested, jerking his head back and denying Bill with a slight shake of his chin.

"Fuck that," Bill stated bluntly. He reached down to wrap a hand around Tom's cock again, thumbing down the foreskin. As Tom lapsed against the tiled wall, Bill settled over his thighs and kissed him sweetly, slipping his tongue in and questing around as though to taste.

Tom's head thudded against tiles and he moaned and opened up to Bill. He pushed up into the sure grip of Bill's fingers. Bill wasn't teasing him now, his hand moving in firm, quick bursts. He jacked at Tom's cock and licked into his mouth until Tom was grunting, pushing up against him.

Bill writhed in his lap and pressed their bellies together, angling Tom's dick between their bodies. He squeezed it between his thighs and rubbed it under his balls, stroking Tom's cock roughly over his own hole.

"Ohh, god," Tom uttered, pushing up between Bill's thighs. He grabbed at his ass and slipped a finger back in there, making Bill squeak as he ground down on him. The head of his cock bumped behind Bill's balls once, twice, then as their mouths joined again, Tom bit down on Bill's lip and came. 

He felt weak, utterly spent, as Bill made soft noises against his mouth and he continued to push up, smearing come all over Bill's cleft and between his thighs. Bill dropped back into his lap and they wrapped their arms around each other, panting. Bill kissed Tom's shoulder then rested his head there.

"Not quite sex in the hot tub, but..." Bill began, sounding sleepy.

"Oh, hell with the hot tub," Tom replied, leaning his head against Bill's. "I've got a really good feeling about the sauna."

Bill's lips curved against his neck.

"We should get out before we overheat," he mumbled ruefully.

Tom grunted, testing the tensile strength of his legs. He was pretty sure he hadn't regained walking capability. He kissed Bill's neck, instead.

"Wonder what time it is," he said, petting over Bill's moisture-dewed back.

Bill crowded closer, then sighed and disengaged, unwinding his limbs from Tom's and getting to his feet. "Time for Bill to rinse off," he said. He leaned in for another kiss, his lips dwelling against Tom's for a second, then he pulled away with a last flick of his tongue for Tom's lip ring.

It took a moment, but Tom got up to follow. He rubbed a hand over his too-short hair and decided that Bill was right. He needed _something_ ; he kept moving his head and expecting to find hair up there.

They took a brief, cool shower, sluicing the heat of the sauna and sticky result of their climaxes from their bodies. After all that, glancing at the clock while returning to the changing area and finding it was ten until eleven was a shock. It seemed as though not nearly that much time had passed. They swapped their robes for clothes again, Bill smoothing ointment over his tattoo and pulling his pants loosely over his hips before Tom could offer to help. As they left the spa area Bill hung back, rubbing at his ear with a finger as Tom returned their locker keys to swap them for stateroom cards.

"Do you have any salon appointments for tomorrow?" Tom asked the spa employee. Once upon a time he might have ogled her, from her shiny blond hair to her perfect teeth and the glimpse of perfumed cleavage that was offered up as she leaned over the spa calendar.

"We have some in the late afternoon," she said with a hesitant smile, and listed them.

He booked a hair stylist and was about to turn back to Bill when her voice stopped him.

"Mr. Trümper?" she murmured. "May I have an autograph?" Her voice was backed with a faint, exotic accent.

Tom closed his eyes for a second, then plastered on a smile and lifted his head. "Of course," he replied, reaching for a pen in a quick, automatic gesture.

Bill came up behind him and Tom could feel the heat of him through his clothes, even though they weren't touching. He waited beside Tom, hovering close but not reaching out for him, while the girl hunted up a clean sheet of paper and Tom filled it with a generic well-wishing and the pronounced scrawl of his autograph.

"Tow?" Bill murmured in his ear, a giggle on his lips as he nudged his face beside Tom's, setting his sharp chin on Tom's shoulder.

"Hey, my 'm's are brilliant, thank you very much," Tom told him with mock indignation.

The spa employee looked back and forth between them with a puzzled smile. "Is this your brother?" she asked, sounding confused. "I didn't think..."

"No, he's not," Tom said flatly, and this inquiry struck to the heart of him the way none of the others had mattered. "We're not related." He reached back for Bill's hand and was relieved when Bill slipped his fingers into Tom's with no hesitation.

"Oh," the girl said, with a doubtful look back as she turned from the counter. "Have a good evening, Mr. Trümper. I have to lock up."

"Yes, we're sorry to keep you," Bill said in a winning tone. He squeezed Tom's hand then tugged on it, urging Tom to fall into step with him.

Tom was silent as they walked up the hall, puzzling over it. Bill was wearing makeup, even though he'd sweated some of it off in the sauna and his hair was thick and black around his face; Tom was makeup free, as he was whenever not on TV or photo shoots, and his hair was cropped short, more brown than blond. Yet somehow, she'd still seen a similarity. He shivered a little as they stepped from the air-conditioned spa area to the open spaces of the Lido Deck pool area. The top had been cranked open again and the night air embraced them in tropical warmth.

"I'm hungry," Bill declared. "Aren't you hungry? Come on, I'm starved." 

Tom mumbled something that sounded vaguely assenting and Bill hauled him along toward the aft deck and a late night pizza. Most things on the ship were closed down by ten or eleven, but the pizza bar was open until midnight. There were a few couples scattered here and there, seated side by side in deck chairs or at the open bar. The lights strung up on lines overhead were bright, blotting out the stars. Tom ate his half of the pizza before he realized, listening to Bill talking on and on about Chicago and how he wanted to show Tom the top of the Sears Tower, bring him around to his favorite bistros, and introduce him to his best friends.

"...and I'll do a striptease right on Michigan Avenue," Bill said, his foot nudging Tom's. "Right before I go down on you at a bus stop."

Tom's head lifted. "What? No, you won't."

Bill smirked over the empty pizza tin at him. "No, I won't." His fingers moved over Tom's. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Tom denied, frowning down at his grease-spotted napkin. It was Chicago, he realized. How could he have forgotten? He'd been born in Chicago, but had spent his entire life from infancy to late teens in southern California. When they'd first started touring, some fans had called Tom a surfer-boy because of his dreadlocks. Self-consciously, he sent a hand up to rub the back of his neck, missing the absent pile of those soft locks again.

"You got all quiet on me," Bill observed. "Did I say something? Or...maybe you don't want to think about going back?"

Not telling Bill, Tom decided, because he'd use it as more ammo. He summoned up a smile less strained and nudged his foot back against Bill's. "Of course I don't want to go back," he replied. "And, I'm listening."

"I know," Bill said, raising a brow. "I thought I had you with that striptease joke."

"Any time you strip for me, it had better be a private show," Tom countered, still frowning.

Bill grinned at him and squeezed his fingers. "Want one right now?" he wondered.

"God, yes," Tom said with feeling.

They returned to Tom's stateroom and it was less a private show and more a mutual disrobing. Tom stripped Bill's jeans off and licked around the star tattoo, careful not to touch it, hovering near but avoiding the still-red skin. He smoothed ointment over it with careful fingers, applying the lightest pressure, barely there. Then he pushed Bill down onto the bed and held him immobile as he sucked him into his mouth and went down with amateur enthusiasm. He hated the way it hit the back of his throat, the way he struggled around it to take it and not choke, but the way he loved Bill's dazed pleasure noises and experienced pride at the swell of the cock on his tongue balanced out. After a great while, pushing past jaw fatigue, he got up when he realized Bill's hoarse cries had transformed to demands for lube, condoms, and a quick prep.

The bed was already turned down and Tom spilled Bill across it, held his legs up and pushed into him slow and carefully as their eyes locked.

"I love you," Bill breathed again, and they moved together.

Tom thought he'd last forever, rocking into Bill as their groans and pants split the shivering air. The moonlight lapped over them like waves as the ship rolled beneath them. They went for so long that Tom had to pull out, and Bill whispered for Tom to put him on his side so that they could keep going. Smearing another dollop of lube over his straining-hard cock, he lay beside Bill and entered him again, rolling into him until Bill's little noises and the way he shuddered in Tom's arms was all that he knew.

They came together, and laid in stillness.

Tom stroked Bill's black hair away from his sweating brow and kissed him. He trailed soft kisses down Bill's neck and set his lips there, nuzzling against his heat.

Bill began to hum something quiet and contented.

Tom's eyes shot open and he tried to pull away, but Bill's grip tightened on the arms around him.

"Where'd you hear that song?" Tom muttered.

Bill was quiet for a moment, then murmured back, "Old lullaby." He resumed humming, even lower now, almost under his breath.

Tom frowned. It wasn't any American lullaby that he could recall, but he still knew it. "German?"

"Mm, probably," Bill mumbled, sounding unconcerned. "We'll be at the little island cay tomorrow morning, Tom...no expeditions, but there's a barbecue."

"Sounds good," Tom replied, and pressed his nose to Bill's nape.

He slept, and dreamed.

He was in the grey of a sickly-sweet room again, the room that had become his mother's deathbed. He clung to her thin fingers as she turned up hollow eyes and told him, again and again, that she was sorry.

"What are you sorry for?" Tom burst out at last, getting the question past the clogged lump in his throat. "Mom...why are you sorry?"

Every time he asked, she turned up her face and breathed her last.

Again and again, he fell on his knees beside the bed in the grey-tinged room and watched his mother die. As the cycle repeated, Tom leaned over the bed and watched her eyes grow dim and at last something shifted, changed. There was a hand on his shoulder. Tom looked up, expecting to find Gordon's grim face, his step-father come at last to pull him from the bedside and bristle with accusations.

It was Bill.

"Don't you think you've been here long enough?" Bill asked him.

"She's my mother," Tom said by way of explanation.

"There's nothing more you can do," Bill replied, and pulled him up into his arms.

Tom let out a sigh that verged on a sob and it was okay, now, to let himself crumple. Bill murmured soothing words in his softly-accented voice and stroked over the length of Tom's dream-restored dreadlocks and held him.

He dwindled, or the room became small. It filled up with silvery-blue light and Tom held on as the arms tightened around him. He was small and safe and loved and that was all that mattered. When the soft hum started up, Tom roused with sleepy blinks.

"Mom?" he uttered, looking around. He looked up into the face of the person who held him.

It was his mother, and she smoothed the blond bounce of his hair back from his face.

"It's okay," Simone told him, and slipped back into the lullaby. "You didn't know." She hummed and it echoed around him, reverberating through Tom's bones.

Tom jerked awake in a light sweat. Some time in the night they had shifted positions and he was lying flat on his back, Bill draped over him like a human blanket from neck to ankle. He disengaged himself slowly, carefully, to avoid disturbing him and stood over the bed as the red numbers on the bedstand clock ticked past and he wrapped his arms over his front, staring down at Bill.

What if it was true?

With a quiet, almost subliminal groan, Tom paced across the cabin and clutched his head in his hands. He grabbed up a shirt and shorts and threw them on. It was too much for him to deny, creeping over him like the march of a disease sweeping through his system. He paced back and forth, and found himself by the sliding glass door, grappling with the known and the unknown. There were too many convergences to be coincidence, but if he gave in to Bill's proclamation that they were brothers - twins - that changed everything.

Shouldn't it change everything?

Tom bit down on his lip hard enough to taste metallic tang and slid open the door to the veranda, letting himself out into the cold night air.

"God," he uttered, the noise small and choked against the rush of the waves far below. He stared out at the roil of clouds above, so dark they merged with the sky, and one thought beat its way through his reeling mind, _why, why, why?_

Why had he and Bill found one another? Why had they fallen in love? Why could he only accept one person, only for that one to turn out to be...

"My twin," Tom said aloud, and accepted the possibility at last. He cradled his head in his hands and thought about it, every fact and suspicion piling up until he couldn't block it out anymore.

He didn't want anyone but Bill.

And yet, if they were twins...

He understood now, with a suddenness so sharp and painful that it was a physical ache in his chest, why Bill had tried to leave him. Because if it was true, how could they keep on as they were, carrying on like lovers? Tom knew there was no way he could be around Bill without being his lover. Bill was everything to him, now.

He would be what Bill needed him to be, though. And if they were twins...

"How can I do this to you?" Tom asked aloud. The wind was cold and scraped his face, taking the words from his mouth and giving no answers.

He folded his arms over his knees and hid his face in the crook of one elbow. It had been a long time since he'd cried, out of anger or frustration or even grief. He couldn't even do it now. He thought about Bill growing up with a man who turned him out of his house. Tom recalled all the years he'd poured into guitar, and girls, and drinking, and partying; everything but making himself happy, as though he'd known he never could.

Tom drew in shuddering breaths of the chilly air and thought of Bill, his warmth and his smile. He thought of that afternoon, and realizing that soon this would be over, but Bill had promised they'd still be together. As lovers? How could he do that to Bill, when they were...

The questions circled and coiled restlessly through Tom's head like treacherous snakes, each grasping the tail of another, unending. He didn't have any answers; he had no way to be sure.

He stayed on the lounge chair in the biting cold until slow-sweeping paint stroke brushes of dawn bloomed over the moving horizon.


	16. Chapter 16

The softly-accented voice punctuated the bubble of quiet that had fallen over the small two-seater table. "Okay, now you're starting to worry me."

Tom looked up from poking holes in the thin membrane that covered runny yellow yolk. It oozed out over the waiting toast like lines of congealing yellow blood and he watched it as though mesmerized, though he was barely even paying attention. "Huh?"

"You're not even eating your Eggs Benedict," Bill elaborated, pushing a mug of fresh, hot coffee across the table at him.

Tom nodded his thanks and curled his fingers around the mug, retracting his grip to the handle when the ceramic threatened to burn his skin. "I guess I'm not that hungry."

"Since when?" Bill challenged with a dark, upraised brow.

Tom shrugged.

Bill sighed and leaned over the table to reach for Tom's hand, but with one hand wrapped around his coffee and the other tapping his fork over yolk-splattered plate, he didn't have one to spare. Bill's brows drew together in a frown and he huffed indignantly, but turned his attention to shoveling in his own breakfast.

"If you don't want eggs, get something else," Bill said indistinctly around a mouthful of toast and runny egg.

Tom contemplated other options and made a face. He'd gotten some sausage and hash browns, too, and corralled those off to the side. Even looking at them was making his stomach turn. Soon, only days from now, he'd go back to his regular schedule, his typical breakfast of coffee and toast. Might as well start weaning himself from life's more ample pleasures right now.

Bill's foot tapped against his and Tom drew it back.

"What do you want to do today?" Bill asked, then looked closer at Tom. "Do you...do you even want to be with me today?"

Tom's head lifted. "What? Yes. Why would you ask that?"

"It seems like you..." Bill hesitated and shook his head. "Never mind. No expeditions today, you know."

"I know," Tom returned equably.

Bill bestowed a small, secretive smile on him. "Checking to see you're listening, then."

"I'm always listening to you," Tom told him, and nudged his foot alongside Bill's beneath the table.

Bill's smile returned, brighter than the dawn that Tom had watched, foggy-eyed, from his veranda. "We should get going soon, if you want to hit the beach."

Tom nodded, sighing through his nose and trying to dispel the tension that was coiling in his guts. Small wonder he had no interest in food.

Bill watched him for a moment, a faint frown appearing between his brows, then he shook his head slightly and turned his attention to finishing breakfast.

Beside the window, the sandy crescent of the island cay spread its green-limned beach alongside the ship. The water was the kind of pale, blue turquoise that most people normally saw only on television or vacation brochures. The last time Tom had seen that color in person, he'd been in Hawai'i. 

He'd been awake that morning when the ship had slowed to a halt and dropped anchor beside the tiny cay. After Tom had sat there for what seemed like hours, Bill had joined him on the veranda, wandering out there in his boxers. Finding Tom mostly unresponsive, Bill had kissed and ruffled his head and informed him he was going for a shower, and to meet him on the Lido Deck for breakfast in half an hour.

It was their last full day on the cruise. Tom knew he should be enjoying it, and every single precious moment that he had Bill to himself, but the notion that they were twins had been implanted in him so completely that he was questioning every casual touch, and even the way their eyes met. He didn't treat Bill like a brother, and he didn't want to.

And yet, if they were...

"We should go swimming," Bill told him, breaking into Tom's dolefully circular thoughts.

Tom roused, setting aside his coffee. "But your tattoo," he protested. "Immersion can't be good for it, let alone salt water."

"The hot tub didn't give me any problems. Fine, then; we'll get in far enough to splash around," Bill suggested. "Toes in the sand, and the wind in our hair..."

"Even for those of us without much hair," Tom interjected, beginning to smile at last.

"Exactly," Bill said with a nod. "You'll go in the water with me, won't you, Tomi? I didn't get very far, last time."

"Only far enough to say you'd been," Tom said, reaching over to tweak a piece of Bill's hair.

Bill turned his face against Tom's fingers, smiling, and Tom withdrew his hand with a concealed sigh. There were other pleasures he'd need to get used to being without, as well.

"Tom," Bill began, a frown forming again.

"We'd better get going," Tom interrupted whatever his lover had been about to say. "Don't want to have to wait too long for a tender, yeah?"

"Oh, right!" Bill exclaimed, bouncing up from the table. He came close to knocking over a glass and Tom could only grin at his enthusiasm as he tossed his napkin to his chair. As they left the breakfast table, Bill reached for his hand and Tom went limp-fingers on him, letting Bill's hand slip out of his grasp. Bill tossed him a puzzled look, almost a glare, then grabbed his hand more firmly.

With an internal sigh, Tom gave up on that particular notion. Brothers held hands, didn't they? That much should be fine.

"Dinner in the dining room tonight, again?"

Tom shook his head. "Would you eat with me at the Pinnacle, again? I screwed it up, last time."

Bill looked over at him with a little smile playing over his full lips. "Another date, Tomi?"

"Well," Tom said, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's dinner, at least."

"You'll definitely get lucky tonight," Bill told him with a laugh. "I don't think you'd manage to blow it so badly, again."

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised," Tom muttered.

Bill threw him a puzzled glance but didn't press him.

The elevators were crowded thick with people waiting for cabs, so they took the stairs down to the third deck and joined the tail end of an immense queue that packed the stairwells and led to the gangway. It seemed that the entire ship had joined the general exodus from the ship for the very last stop, and Tom was sure that the crescent of sand he'd seen from the window would be packed with people. Bill had brought a shoulder bag and tossed in the sunblock as well as his sunglasses and camera, and he had possession of Tom's as well as his own statecard, along with whatever other items he kept in there. Tom recalled seeing him reach for lip gloss at one point and he knew there had to be more; it was like a bottomless bag of tricks.

"Talk to me, Tom," Bill said after a moment, touching the side of his waist.

"What do you want me to say?" Tom wondered. He knew he was safe from any conversation more intimate, seeing as a stairwell packed with people was hardly the place to discuss their relationship.

As lovers, or as brothers.

Tom wanted to turn away, but he couldn't stop himself from looking at Bill. Every smallest gesture caught his attention, from Bill brushing stray hair from his face to a quick lick of his tongue over the line of his bottom lip. Bill caught him looking and smiled at him, his amber-brown eyes somewhat puzzled but mostly soft, pleased.

"Tell me about New York," Bill urged. "What's your life like, there?"

Tom shrugged. "It's been...the usual, I guess. Nothing so great, really. We work on songs, we practice, we do TV appearances..."

"You're telling me about your job," Bill said with a quiet laugh. "Tell me about your life, Tom."

"Not much to say," Tom said ruefully. "Or...maybe not much I think I should say, you know? I have a penthouse in the city, I go out clubbing, I've done my fair share of screwing around..."

"Oh yeah?" Bill returned, a glint in his eye.

Tom ducked his head and scratched at one ear. "Well, you know." He wasn't exactly proud of it and he was glad Bill hadn't asked him about prior relationships. Although their public relations manager had had him tell the public he'd had girlfriends, every now and then, especially that model he'd been with during red carpet season, Tom didn't consider any of the women he'd been with to have been actual girlfriends.

His yardstick for that had always been whether it was a person he'd be willing to take home to his mother, if she were still alive. Tom snorted.

"Something funny?" Bill asked.

Tragic, Tom wanted to reply, and his throat closed up. If he'd brought Bill home to meet Simone, what would she have said? Instead of saying any of it, he shook his head. He didn't want to broach the subject again, but he was going to have to face it sooner or later.

Could he really keep doing this to Bill, if they were twins?

"What's the freakiest thing you've ever done?" Bill abruptly wanted to know.

Tom's eyes flashed over to Bill's and he was terrified for a split second, sure that his thoughts were naked on his face.

"Not...I mean," Bill said, and flushed. "Like, have you ever had a threesome?"

"I left that kind of stuff for Georg," Tom replied, and gripped Bill's hand a little more tightly. "I'm gay now, remember? No, I...I was pretty boring in bed with girls, I think. It was like...getting off was a mechanical thing, it was something I did to relieve the pressure, like...sneezing, or scratching an itch."

"Sounds lonely," Bill said, brow furrowing.

"It was," Tom said after a moment. "It's not making a connection with someone, it's only getting physical with them. And I didn't really want to know them, because letting them in meant losing a part of me, or something."

"But not with me," Bill said softly, rubbing his thumb over Tom's hand.

"No," Tom agreed. "No, not with you." That was why, even though he knew he should pull away, put distance between them and figure things out, he couldn't.

And yet, he was going to have to.

"Tired?" Bill asked him, as the line inched down the stairs and brought them within sight of the ferry that was abutting the ship, one heaving gangplank connecting the two vessels. Only looking at it was making Tom's stomach churn and the prospect of trusting Bill's safety to that fragile plank made him want to call the trip off. "You're so quiet."

"Didn't get much sleep," Tom grunted.

"Silly, then why did you get up so early?" Bill wanted to know, leaning into him.

Tom closed his eyes and slipped his arm around Bill's waist, breathing in his comforting scent for now. "Had a bad dream."

"Mm, you should have woken me," Bill told him, nosing against Tom's temple, then pressing a kiss there. "I would've chased it away for you."

Tom could only shake his head, wordless.

They boarded the ferry and Tom went first, sounding out the way. As the ship lurched from side to side, Bill lost his grip on the rail and went sailing for the opposite side. Reflexively Tom grabbed for him, tugging Bill up against him and staggering against the rail beside him hard enough to put a good bruise in his flesh.

"Tomi," Bill grumbled, poking at him as they settled into their seats. "I had it, you shouldn't hurt yourself trying to keep me safe..."

Maybe it's the only thing I can do, Tom thought, and kept it to himself.

The ferry wound around the ship and sailed through choppy water, giving them a clear view straight ahead of the white beach, and a channel cut through a rockier area. As they passed between two high, rocky walls, Bill stirred and leaned against him, petting absently over Tom's thigh.

"Tell me something good," he murmured. "Something about your life in New York that you enjoy."

"Well, walking with Hoggle at three a.m., when there's hardly anyone around but the streets are still lit up like a starry sky," Tom said after a moment.

"Hoggle?" Bill said blankly.

"Oh, right...my dog," Tom replied. He hated boarding his pup, so a PA was taking care of Hoggle during the cruise. He knew that the German shorthair would be waiting by the door when he got home, and he couldn't wait. "I hope you don't mind...?"

"You named your puppy Hoggle?" Bill exclaimed, clapping his hands.

"Uh, yeah," Tom said, glad he didn't have to appear embarrassed because Bill looked absolutely delighted. "I...really like Labyrinth, so..."

"I'm glad you said you like it, meaning you still do," Bill said, pressing his knee closer to Tom's. "And I love dogs. I've been wanting one for so long, but it never quite seemed the right time." He threaded their fingers together again.

Tom looked down at their joined hands and grappled with the ache of it all over again. He wanted this, and everything that being with Bill implied. If it was true that they were twins, he didn't see how they could. He gazed out from the side of the boat as the ferry pulled into the harbor.

Though the cay had seemed like nothing more than a deserted island from the high deck of the ship, there was a small square of shops beyond the harbor. Bill snapped pictures as he led Tom through the square, and begged someone to take a photo of himself and Tom beside a fountain lined with conch shells.

"Hey," Bill said, after taking his camera back from the smiling woman who had photographed them. He reached out for Tom after examining the photo. "You okay?"

"Fine," Tom responded, shrugging off Bill's solicitous hand to the shoulder.

"All right..."

When they reached the beach, Bill asked if he wanted to enjoy the water but Tom begged off, settling onto a chair and shading his eyes as he looked out toward the sea.

After slathering himself with lotion, Bill turned and presented his back and Tom kept the application of sunblock brisk and businesslike. He gave Bill a pat to let him know he was done, then kept the bottle to begin applying sunblock to his own exposed skin.

Bill dropped onto the chair beside him with a puzzled look.

"What's going on?" he asked, tucking his shoulder bag to the small of his back and drawing his knees up to his chest.

"I wish we didn't have to go back," Tom said at once. If they could only stay here on this deserted cay, they'd never have to worry about things like separation, public opinion, or the prospect of actually being related. It wouldn't matter if they were twins if they were here on their own, with no one to notice the similarity between them and raise any awkward questions.

Bill tipped his head to one side. "There's more, though," he guessed.

Tom tried to shake his head, one hand going up to his head and finding his dreadlocks missing again, and couldn't hold Bill's gaze. "I, uh..."

"Are you...having second thoughts?" Bill said, and his tone was so sharp with fear that Tom's head jerked up.

"Yeah," he replied, low-voiced. "But not...not about _you_."

Bill's face was pinched and pale but he nodded slowly. "About...us being twins." His voice was equally, if not more low, but Tom still heard.

"I can't," Tom began, and closed his eyes as he recognized the words that Bill had given him a few days ago. "I mean, it's just not knowing. I know you're convinced, but I'm not. And without knowing for sure..." He couldn't finish.

Bill sighed, unwound his long legs, and stood. He stepped beside Tom and, instead of sitting beside him, remained standing and embraced Tom's head. "Then let's get a blood test," he said in his softly-accented voice. "When we get back to New York, we can have a DNA test done, right?"

Tom blinked up at him. "I'm so stupid," he said after a moment, hoarse and upset with himself.

"I think you enjoy the stress," Bill said brightly, rubbing at his head and teasing the hair at the back of Tom's neck with his fingernails. He patted Tom on the cheek then sat beside him. "Does it matter?"

Tom fixed his gaze on his hands. "I didn't think it mattered when I was sure it wasn't true," he said evasively.

Bill remained beside him for a moment then told him, "I'm going swimming." He got up and stripped his shirt off, kicking his sandals to one side, and tossing his shirt.

It landed on Tom's head, making him sputter for a moment. He disentangled himself from the folds of Bill's shirt and brought it up to his face for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of freshly-laundered cloth and clean Bill.

It mattered too much.

He got up and shucked his own shirt off, following Bill into the water.

"Hey! You're not supposed to get that tattoo submerged!" Tom called out, wading into the ripples that lapped over wet sand.

Bill turned around, stepping backward, a subdued smile tugging at his mouth. "So come and stop me," he challenged.

They splashed around for what seemed like hours until Bill headed for the beach, pleading hunger and overexposure to salt water. They camped out on their beach chairs for a while anyhow, and Tom soaked up the warmth of the sun overhead, trying to bask in the relative quiet and the peace of knowing they weren't known here. It was a stay of execution, one day more.

At last he opened his eyes when a dark shadow stole the warmth, and expected to see Bill beside him. Instead he stretched and looked up at clouds overhead.

"Looks like rain," Bill murmured, slipping into his shirt on the beach chair beside Tom. "Let's go eat – there's a barbecue, remember?"

"Right," Tom mumbled, pulling his shirt into his lap and fiddling with it. He squinted at the clouds.

Bill maintained a distance between them as they shuffled up the beach and found a gravel path, until at last Tom couldn't take it anymore.

Nothing was certain. Even though it was looking less like a series of coincidences and more an inevitable conclusion that Tom was going to have to face, he still wanted to enjoy Bill that way. They were lovers, and he wanted to keep him as long as he could.

When he reached over and took Bill's hand, Bill's head lofted like a startled creature's and he gave Tom a blinding smile, not without a touch of wistfulness.

Fingers interlaced, they walked to the beach barbecue to eat their fill. There was grilled mahi-mahi, and plantains, and plenty of leafy vegetables that Tom avoided. There were burgers and brats and two kinds of potato chips, and an entire separate table for brownies and cookies. They heaped their plates and Bill leaned against him and told dirty jokes and took pictures of their surroundings, then held up the camera to cram both their faces into the frame. Sudden sheets of rain cascaded around the pavilion where they had taken their lunch and Bill laughed, aiming his camera, flash going off again.

They had to book it back to the ferry after the rain trailed off into dust-spatters and droplets that beaded rainbows through Bill's hair.

"Wish we could have stayed longer," Tom said, leaning against the ferry rail and watching the shore recede.

"We've got to make that salon appointment of yours," Bill countered, flicking a finger against Tom's ear then stroking his nails at Tom's nape in quick contrition.

"Gotta make me look pretty," Tom said with a smirk.

"Oh, babe, you already do," Bill crooned, scratching at Tom's nape a bit. "Are you going for extensions?"

"You'll see," Tom returned, patting at Bill's waist before sliding an arm around him. He was thinking cornrows, in keeping with the somewhat thuggish aesthetic of which he'd been accused. Black to match Bill's, because as Bill had pointed out, it would be easier to match extensions to that color.

Bill pouted. "You don't trust me enough to get my opinion?"

"Maybe I want to surprise you," Tom countered.

"Mm," Bill murmured, nudging into the arm that Tom had around him. "Maybe I don't like surprises."

Tom shook his head ruefully. "Then you must've really hated the fact that you didn't see me coming," he said aloud before he could rein the words in.

Bill was quiet for a moment. "You're the best thing that's happened to me, Tom. No matter what. Okay?"

Tom drew in a slow breath. Instead of saying anything, he gripped Bill tighter.

Once they had returned to the ship, Tom thought they would part ways while he went to his appointment, but Bill decided to join him and book a last-minute massage while Tom got his hair done. The consultation with the stylist didn't take long – she agreed with everything, from dying his roots black to braiding in cornrows to the extensions, as well.

"We only have acrylic extensions," the stylist told him, holding up a thin black braid. "I'm so glad you're willing to go black, though; it's much easier to match."

Tom smirked in the mirror at her and she appeared momentarily flustered, then moved on.

The process took hours, to the point where Tom was half dozing in his chair by the time the soft tugs moved across his scalp as the stylist braided zig-zagging patterns across his scalp. She finished attaching the ends of the extensions then removed the hair-cutting cape and patted his shoulder to get his attention.

"What do you think?" she prompted him, holding up a mirror so that he could see how it looked in the back.

Tom thought he looked hard, even angry as he looked back at his own tell-tale face. As he watched, a muscle in his jaw flexed. The closely-braided hair, as well as a lack of obscuring caps, put emphasis on the planes of his face. Sure, there was similarity, but...

He didn't think he looked _that_ much like Bill.

"It's great," he said, lifting a hand to the tight rows over his scalp and passing a hand over the texture of the braids. "You did a great job."

She beamed.

Outside, Bill was waiting for him in one of the spa chairs as he paged through a magazine. He bounced up from his seat and his eyes widened as Tom approached.

"So?" Tom prompted, rubbing one hand self-consciously over the braids.

"You did it! You went with the cornrows!" Bill cheered, clapping his hands together. "Oh, you look fabulous, Tom."

"Glad you think so," Tom said, casting his eyes down. He couldn't reconcile what he'd seen in the mirror with his own self-image. "Hey, I didn't expect you to wait for me – I thought you'd be in your cabin by now."

"Did you make reservations?" Bill said suddenly.

"Oh," Tom said, and grimaced. "Shit...I bet they're all booked up, yeah?"

"We could eat in the dining room..." Bill suggested.

"Let's stop by and see, at least," Tom said, and passed another hand over his head. He was having second thoughts about the hairstyle already. It had been hard to get taken seriously, from time to time, and Tom knew it had been because of the way he presented himself. In the music industry, an outre look wasn't just acceptable, it was frequently an asset. In the so-called real world, people looked askance at someone dressing like a thug, no matter how much money they had on hand. The maitre-d' had certainly given Tom the eye the first night he'd showed up at the dining room.

The Pinnacle Grill was booked full, but slipping the maitre-d' a hundred turned up a sudden cancellation. Even so, they didn't get a booking until the latest available slot at nine-thirty. Bill urged Tom to accept and murmured that they could get a snack at the Lido deck restaurant, which was pretty much open from six to ten-thirty daily.

"Or room service," Tom suggested.

"Hmm, you have a point," Bill said, turning a smoldering look on him.

That look made Tom reach up to tug on a braid. He was torn – part of him wanted to defer having any more sex until they knew for sure, but the rest of him, the eager majority, was clamoring to have Bill again in any position, any place.

Something of the struggle must have shown on Tom's face because Bill dropped his hand, shaking his head a little and moving off down the hall away from Tom, toward the immense spiraling glass staircase.

"Bill," Tom said, thanking the maitre-d' one last time then jogging after his lover. "Bill, wait up!"

"I knew this was going to happen," Bill hissed, walking faster. Tom stretched his legs to catch up, and circled Bill's thin wrist with one hand. Bill tried to jerk free, then clearly reconsidered and came to a dead stop, his eyes flashing at Tom. "I was worried about this, Tom. Worried that you weren't dealing..."

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" Tom asked, keeping his tone low. 

Bill stared at him evenly for a moment, then his chin dipped in a nod. He wrapped his arms tightly across his front and began to walk off again. "My cabin, or yours?"

They ended up at Tom's, as usual, because after so many days of togetherness it seemed somehow to be both of theirs rather than the one-person suite Tom had checked into at the beginning of his journey. It was a little strange, perhaps, because not a single item of Bill's inhabited any of the suite's nooks and crannies, and yet Tom saw Bill everywhere.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Bill said directly, turning on his heel and facing off with Tom.

Tom ran a hand through the ends of his braids in a quick, nervous gesture and recalled what Bill had said only the day before – how he wanted something to tug on. During sex, Tom had added, and his stomach performed an uneasy flip.

"Isn't it supposed to?" Tom returned.

"I...well...but..." Bill began to sputter indignantly. He shook his head and appeared to collect himself. "This...I was afraid of this. Afraid of you not dealing..."

"And you have?" Tom interrupted. "Slipping right into being lovers again even with the possibility hovering in the back of your head?"

Bill's eyes flared with anger. "Fuck you, Tom!" he said directly. "I _have_ dealt with it, you don't even know how miserable I was that day. When I saw you again, though, I decided it didn't matter. I love you, and...and not as a brother."

Tom was nodding even as he balled his hands into fists. Hadn't he thought the same thing, only days before? "And that's why you agreed to get a blood test?"

"For you!" Bill exclaimed. "To me, it doesn't matter if we are, or aren't. But you know, you...I think I need to ask you a question again, one that I asked you the other day and I think the answer probably hasn't changed, but the intention behind it..."

"What's that?" Tom snapped.

Bill squared his shoulders. His eyes were sparking with amber-brown fire. "Would you stop having sex with me if there was some way for me to _prove_ to you that we're twins?"

Tom took a quick breath. He knew he should have expected that question, of all things Bill would ask. "I..." He looked away. There was what he should answer, and what he wanted to answer, and then there was the answer he'd deliver up if it turned out to be true.

"That's great, Tom," Bill said, sounding upset. Worse, defeated. "I'll let myself out."

"No, wait," Tom exclaimed, snatching for Bill's arm as the tall, lithe man began to storm past him.

Bill swung around as though he'd punch at Tom, his eyes glittering. Tom held his ground, sure that if he got a right hook to the face he'd deserve it, but instead Bill stood there and simply looked at him, eyes moving over him as though memorizing every part of him.

"Wait," Tom repeated. "I don't know. Is it okay if I don't know?"

Bill sniffed. "Maybe," he said uncertainly. "As long as we figure it out together?"

Tom nodded and drew Bill into his arms. Bill came without resistance, stroking over Tom's back and grasping at his shoulders.

"I was hoping I didn't go through all of that only to have you turn me away," Bill whispered against his neck.

"I'm not going to turn you away," Tom assured him instantly. "I just...there are some things we need to figure out, okay?" He wished Bill had never called his aunt. He definitely wished the cruise didn't do that birthday cake thing, especially when it was thirty years he was owning up to.

Still, he no longer wished Andreas hadn't booked him for the cruise.

Bill nodded silently and held him.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," Tom gave the words back to Bill, cradling him against his body. "Okay? You're like...fuck, you're like a thirtieth birthday present, sent to get me on the right track again."

Bill sniffed hard. "Only to derail you all over again?" he asked sadly.

"No way," Tom said, and gripped Bill's arms. He pulled back to look him full in the face and searched Bill's earnest, somewhat suspiciously damp brown eyes. "No, I love you, and I love being with you, but I just...I haven't reached the same place you have, okay?"

"Acceptance?" Bill ventured.

Tom nodded, not quite certain it was that. He still wasn't sure he'd reach the same conclusion that Bill would, especially when the test results were returned to them. And he had to figure out a way to arrange the test that would be discreet and utterly, one hundred percent confidential.

"So...does this mean no sex?" Bill asked, sounding crestfallen.

Tom laughed.

Bill hissed and tried to jerk out of his arms, hitting at his shoulder then moving his palm over the muscle in a quick soothing motion as though immediately apologizing for whatever pain he'd inflicted. "I don't see what's so funny!"

"You're right, it's not...not really funny, but I knew it would come to sex sooner or later," Tom replied. "Trust me, I've been thinking about it, too."

"Oh?" Bill made eyes at him. "And what's the verdict?"

Tom had to drop eye contact; it was too intense. "It's the same as you. I look at you and I see Bill, my lover. It's not...I never had any siblings. I wouldn't know what it's like. All I know is, I want you."

"Then have me," Bill said, soft but insistent.

Tom groaned.

"Didn't _you_ say it should be that simple?" Bill persisted. "If we want each other, and we want to be together..."

Tom began to shake his head and Bill caught his face in both hands. "Look at me."

After wetting his lips with a nervous tongue, Tom did.

"Tell me you don't want to be with me," Bill challenged. "Sexually, intimately, as lovers. Go ahead. Say it."

"I...I can't," Tom admitted after a tense silence, during which Bill's dark eyes bored into his.

Bill's face relaxed. He knew what Tom meant without asking, and the answer wasn't 'I can't be your lover.' "So prove it," Bill whispered. "Take me to bed, Tom."

Tom did.

They made love amidst the white sheets and when Tom reached for a condom, Bill set it aside.

"I want to feel you," he said, expression determined. "Really feel you, all of you."

And because they already had, and Tom wanted it too, he entered Bill without a condom, pressing his length into Bill so deep that Bill moaned for him, made such pretty sounds that Tom couldn't help rocking his way deeper and deeper. He rode Bill's legs up over his shoulders and slid into him, arranging their straining bodies to be able to cover Bill's lips with his own. They rolled their bodies together in a pleasure that built and spread through Tom's whole body but he held it off, watching Bill's face for the clues that he was getting close.

They held hands as Tom flowed over and into Bill, joining their bodies again and again. Here there was no struggle, no tension or stress, no fear of what might be or what was to come. There was only Tom and Bill, moving together. Tom stroked Bill's hair back from his face as they strove together when they kissed, neither of them willing to part from the other, and at last Bill cried out into his mouth as he reached orgasm and pulled Tom along with.

There were still hours left to go before dinner after they spilled their pleasure on the sheets. Bill was the first to pull away, murmuring something about cleaning up and packing, because they had to have their luggage set aside for the evening pick-up, and Tom reached out to stop him as he had before, grabbing for his wrist.

"I need to pack," Bill said, giving him a confused look, tugging at his hand to withdraw it. "C'mon, Tom, you're going to have to let me go eventually."

That struck home, and Tom shook his head briefly. "Let me come with you, okay? While you pack."

Bill was quiet for a second, then nodded his head with a slow smile. "All right, Tomi."

"I don't want to leave," Tom said. 

"Everything comes to an end," Bill replied, reaching up to smooth a hand over Tom's shiny jet-colored braids. "But not you and me, okay?"

Tom nodded. Locked away inside of him, though, was the fear that he wasn't so sure about even that much.


	17. Chapter 17

Smoke trailed out over the veranda railing as Tom stared dully out at the dark blue waters of the harbor. The ship was docked, and had been since he and Bill woke to the soft rap of room service calling at their door much, much earlier. They had chosen to spend their last morning on the ship together in seclusion, and Tom was finishing up the remainder of the coffee as he smoked beside the railing. They were the very image of a power couple, Tom knew, with both of them on their cell phones and Bill's laptop out and teetering precariously on his knees.

Tom adjusted the phone against his ear and interjected against the chatter, "Wait, wait, am I hearing this right? Have you done a complete about-face, or am I imagining things?"

"Well," Andreas said, sounding testy, "I simply want to know when to schedule a paparazzi photo op, Tom. I'm talking business, here."

"You wanted to know how _soon_ you could schedule it," Tom replied, stressing the time indicator. "That kind of indicates you want it, as opposed to your stance last time I called, when you were asking whether I was sure Bill and I would still be..." He trailed off and glanced over his shoulder at Bill, who broke off tapping away one-handed at his laptop to give Tom a wave. It was kind of ironic, because Tom had been gearing himself up for a fight with his manager even as his own internal line of questioning was leading him along the same track as the one Andreas had been on.

How much longer would Tom be with Bill? _Could_ he be with Bill...?

In Andreas's case, at least he didn't know the downside to that last question, which was '...if we're twins?' If he knew, he'd probably freak, answer Tom's question in the resounding negative _for_ him, and try to disappear the problem himself.

Fortunately, someone like Bill was too publicly visible to disappear, and Tom got his back up at anyone trying to tell him what to do. It was too bad he couldn't talk his problem over with Andreas, though, because his manager was the first person he would have approached to try and figure out where to have a test arranged. So Tom had to figure out another discreet avenue through which to arrange his DNA test.

"Well, he's very attractive," Andreas said matter-of-factly.

Tom snorted. "Have you seen him? 'Very attractive' is a fucking understatement." He glanced over his shoulder again and found Bill beaming at him.

There was a cough on the other end of the line, then a moment of silence.

"I already know you've seen him, Andreas; it was a rhetorical question," Tom told his manager.

"Actually," Andreas said, "I've been doing some research, and cross-referencing that with the demographics..."

"Spit it out, you know I don't care about shit like that," Tom said, flicking the last of his ash over the veranda railing. He plucked his coffee cup from the railing and chased the remnants of smoke on his tongue with a swallow of the bitter brew.

"He's hot," Andreas stated outright. "Really, amazingly, scorchingly hot. I watched some of his show segments on You Tube. Combined with the fact that the majority of the band's fan base is hormonal young teenagers, twenty-somethings, and their moms, and most of them are pro-gay or gay-neutral, if you come out with this man on your arm..."

"Ah," Tom said, finally recognizing the sound of the last of Andreas's resistance giving way like a tree toppling in a forest full of lumberjacks. "You dick, only a few days ago you were asking me to reconsider."

"I didn't...quite," Andreas objected. "I asked if you were _sure_. This whole dating a man thing has to be done a certain way, you know; there are things that shouldn't be done, kind of like dating the fashion world's hottest model during show seasons then dumping her before the spring catwalks...when we went to all the trouble of setting her up with you, Tom; really."

" _You_ set me up with her; I never asked!" Tom exclaimed, incensed. Now Andreas was trying to retcon his past dalliances? "I was never interested in her to begin with, and I...I had sex with her because I was drunk and riding that post-award glow..." He tried to lower his voice to make sure Bill didn't hear too much that was incriminating. They still didn't know much about one another's sex lives from before, and Tom rather wanted to keep it that way.

"Really? Huh," Andreas said.

"And that's a load of horseshit, anyhow," Tom said, returning to his manager's original point. "I can date Bill however I'm going to date him. There's no rock star's guide to coming out while dating the hottest thing on two legs anyone has seen in this hemisphere – possibly both hemispheres – and even if there was, I'd say fuck it."

"So we can get that paparazzi photo soon?" Andreas said keenly.

"No!" Tom exclaimed. "Give us at least a week to decompress and just...just be with each other, okay?" In the back of his head, Tom was thinking that a week should be enough time to get a DNA test. It would have to be. He'd throw whatever money down that they wanted for a quick – but accurate – test.

"Can we leak the rumor?" Andreas wanted to know.

Tom palmed at his forehead. "Please just wait a week," he said between his teeth.

"Come on, what's the issue?" Andreas pressed. "You already said you want to spend the rest of your life with this guy, right? So I'd think you'd want us to move on this."

Tom's jaw tensed. He _had_ said that, and he still meant it, but whether they'd spend that time as brothers or lovers was yet to be determined. "I want to enjoy my time off the ship with him while the two of us are between work commitments for a little while longer, okay?" Tom said, keeping his tone determinedly upbeat.

Andreas was silent for a moment. After waiting a beat he said, "You know...I think this guy is going to be really good for you, Trümper." 

"What makes you say that?" Tom asked defensively.

"Well, this is the first time I've heard you in years where you seemed to be anything but pissed off at something. Management, your bandmates, the schedule, the press, public relations, hapless production assistants..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I've been an asshole," Tom said, but he was grinning. "And you're right. It certainly wasn't the actual vacation that you booked for me, you jackass. A boomer couples' cruise?"

"It worked out for you amazingly well, you should be thanking me!" Andreas shot back.

"Thank you," Tom said, looking over his shoulder again. Bill was absorbed in the screen of the laptop balanced on his knees, an adorable furrow planted between his dark brows.

"Wow," Andreas mumbled, sounding stunned. "I...I didn't think you actually would."

"Well, things have changed," Tom said amiably. "So long as I'm assured a regular supply of Bill, I think you'll find me a lot easier to deal with in the future."

"You'll have to work that out with him," Andreas warned, and laughed. "All right, I'm going to let you go. Don't forget about Tuesday."

Tom found himself nodding. He caught himself and said, "Yeah, I'll be there. Band meeting."

He hung up, checked his emails through his phone's email app, and gazed out at the bay and the harsh glint of gold sun off the dark blue water of the ocean. They were disembarking by blocks and theirs would probably be called soon. They had gotten up to an early wake-up to give Tom the few hours he needed to get himself conscious and moving at any hour before eleven, and for Bill to switch his ticket. It had apparently been quite a fight so far, because Bill had been on the phone for almost an hour.

Arms ringed Tom's waist and a sharp chin settled on his shoulder. "There, it's done. I'm all yours," a mellow tenor said in his ear, and Bill's warm lips brushed against his neck.

Tom suppressed a shiver. "For a few weeks," he replied, low-voiced.

"Hey," Bill said, and one of his hands dipped below Tom's belt and grasped him firmly through the crotch of his jeans. "I have to share you with _all those girls_ , okay? I think you can manage to share me with my publishing company."

"And all of your exotic trips," Tom said morosely, picturing some tall – well, to be taller than Bill he'd have to be pretty damned tall – broad-shouldered, over-muscled hunk romancing Bill in a tropical locale.

Bill kissed his neck again. "Don't be stupid, it's not going to be any fun without you," he replied, and nipped Tom's tendon before running his tongue up toward Tom's ear. "I'll be picturing myself with you, wherever you are...your hotel room of the day, or your penthouse..."

"Any trouble switching the ticket?" Tom said, raising a brow.

Bill laughed. "Most of the shit was because I wanted to book the seat adjacent to yours. They wanted me to check in electronically, but I told them no way; I can't print a boarding pass on the cruise ship. Well, I probably could upstairs, but..."

"Not worth the effort," Tom concluded. "God, flying sure as hell isn't what it used to be, ten years ago or so."

"You're telling me," Bill said, one of his dark brows hiking. "Remember when people actually still had travel agents?"

"Stop, you're making me feel old," Tom complained, lifting a hand to palm his forehead.

Bill grinned over at him. "I know one thing that won't make you feel old," he said, stretching in for a kiss.

Without even thinking about it, Tom moved to intercept Bill's lips with his own. When Bill drew back with a startled non-verbal noise, Tom's eyes widened and he started to pull away, absorbing the sting of rejection.

"Ah, ahh," Bill chided, his grasp on Tom's waist – and crotch – tightening. "What did you have last, cigarette or coffee?"

Tom had to think for a moment, and that was _difficult_. "Uh, coffee," he replied at last.

"Good," Bill said. He nosed at Tom's cheek until Tom turned his head and their lips met. Bill pushed his tongue right in and helped himself.

They kissed and Tom made an interested noise, trying to turn himself around. Bill's grip on various parts tightened yet again, effectively immobilizing Tom.

"Mm-mm," Bill denied, humming against Tom's lips.

Tom reached behind himself, trying to grope Bill's ass. "But..."

"If I let you turn around, we'll probably end up having sex," Bill murmured.

"And that's a bad thing, how?" Tom questioned, surprised that Bill would deny him. He decided that he was miffed, because Bill had certainly been indignant enough last night at the prospect that Tom wouldn't do it with him.

"We're disembarking soon?" Bill offered. He nipped at Tom's ear with his lips folded over his teeth.

Tom groaned. "So what, we'll get off the ship eventually..."

Bill chuckled. "It wouldn't be that much of a problem if we didn't have a plane to catch."

"Sex now and a missed flight, or sex later...much, much later...in my bed," Tom pondered his options aloud. "It's like torture, how am I supposed to choose one over the other?"

Bill grinned against Tom's neck and hugged him from behind, pushing him against the railing with the main force of his pelvis. Now Tom could tell exactly how aroused Bill was by the notion, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Wait, are you..." Tom began, his stomach swirling with a weird mix of unease and arousal.

Bill pressed against him a little more firmly and nibbled on the side of Tom's neck as though sampling him. "Would you let me, Tom?" he purred, shifting his grip to Tom's hips and pulsing with slow, subtle motions.

Tom bit his lip, torn between being ragingly turned-on and somewhat irked, because first Bill had denied him sex, yet now here he was practically humping him against the veranda railing. He ended up wiggling his ass back against Bill, because he knew how much of a tease that was when it was done to _him,_ turned his head until Bill's lips brushed his, then stated firmly, "We're not going to find out right this minute, because we've got a plane to catch."

Bill made a disappointed noise in his throat and let go of Tom's hips. "Guess I'll go pack up the last of my things," he said, and the warmth along Tom's backside was abruptly gone.

Tom gripped the railing in both hands and blinked several times. He could still feel Bill against him, pressing there. The thought of widening his stance, of Bill pressing harder against him _there_ , was an unexpectedly hot one and he had to palm his impatient cock for a moment and adjust it in his jeans before he turned around.

Behind him on the veranda, Bill was moving around collecting scattered items and depositing them into his laptop case and shoulder bag. He glanced up at Tom and dropped one eye in a slow wink.

"Is that...do you...is it something you want?" Tom said uncertainly. He hadn't really thought about it since their first night together, when Bill's mention of fucking him had thrown him off guard.

Bill flashed him a coy smile. "Does the thought turn you on?" he returned the question with a question.

"Uh..." Tom vacillated, reaching up to tangle a hand at the base of his braids. He shifted from one foot to the other and noted the flicker of Bill's eyes from face to groin.

Bill tongued his lip and met Tom's eyes again. "It's okay, Tomi, it can wait until you're ready," he replied. "It's definitely something I like to do, but I really, really like the sex we're having, too."

"Okay," Tom said, and tried to figure why he was curiously dissatisfied by that answer. Had be been hoping Bill would press the issue?

Like he'd pressed his semi-hard cock against the seat of Tom's jeans?

 _Oh, god, that's not supposed to turn me on,_ Tom told himself, and headed for the sliding glass door. "I'm gonna...yeah, finish...uh, packing. One last sweep," Tom told Bill, nodding like a bobble-head before retreating.

Bill's smile was knowing as a sphinx.

Tom went about collecting his last stray belongings in a daze. Had they really had that conversation? Would he really let Bill go there? Maybe it was one of those things that seemed really sexy in theory, but then in practice there would be a _dick in his ass_. No, he was pretty sure things did not go there. But Bill seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, so... Tom absently poked at his lip ring and decided to defer the thinking until later, because thinking about that, and Bill, was only making him hotter and _that_ was a detriment to any sort of sensible decision-making process.

As he contemplated the prospect of getting penetrated for the first time and how he felt about that, the ship's intercom system came on and announced the next block for disembarking. Tom grabbed his wallet and passport, did a last visual check of the stateroom, and slid the veranda door aside to lock eyes with Bill.

"It's time," he said.

Bill nodded and hefted his laptop case to his shoulder, slinging his gigantic purse...man-bag...carry-on thing onto the other. "Let's go," he replied.

When they opened the cabin door that led to the hallway, Michael stood waiting, his hands clasped before him. He gave them a short nod.

"I'd better do a quick check of my stateroom," Bill exclaimed, looking frazzled. "Tom, would you..."

Tom held his hand out for the laptop case before Bill could complete his sentence. They gave each other quick smiles.

"I'll wait for you here," Tom told him, and Bill nodded before turning to jog up the hall.

As Tom waited, he and Michael standing on opposite sides of the cramped hallway, a thought struck Tom. He recalled scanning over Michael's dossier briefly when the man was assigned to him as personal bodyguard.

"Say," Tom began reflectively. "If someone were to have need of getting a confidential DNA screening...for...for health background reasons, would you have an idea on how to arrange that?"

Michael didn't shift position, and not so much as a facial twitch betrayed the fact that he'd heard the question. He was wearing his mirror sunglasses, which let Tom gaze at his own anxious, elongated face in duplicate.

"I could arrange it with a private lab, sir," he said at last. "How soon, and how quickly would you need the results?"

"As soon as possible, on both counts," Tom replied, already relieved. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants.

"I'll make a call," Michael said. "For you, or Mr. Kaulitz?"

For a moment, Tom wished he could see his bodyguard's eyes. Then he decided it was better without eye contact. He firmed his jaw. "Both of us."

"All right," Michael said. He hesitated, pushed his glasses up his nose, and looked both ways up the corridor. At last he said, "They'll want to know if you want to run a comparison. I, of course, neither need nor want to know."

Tom nodded and let out a slow breath. No matter what his personal opinion, Michael was on their side. He wondered how much the big man suspected.

He decided hell with it, it didn't matter; he was going home with Bill. As Bill reappeared around the corner, his lean face brightening with a beautiful grin when he spotted Tom, Tom reeled with the impact of him all over again. What had he done to be so lucky as to have this person by his side?

Leaving the ship involved long queues, being processed through security yet again, and sharing anecdotes with Bill about similar waits and the fading of the post-vacation buzz. For all the wait, going through Customs at the end of the line was a quick process. The woman barely glanced through Tom's passport before validating his technical re-entry to the U.S. Retrieving their luggage from the heaped towers at the long dock curb was far more of a hassle.

"Sad to leave it?" Bill asked as they lingered on the curb awaiting a cab. Tom was shading his eyes with a hand, looking up to the dark rise of the nearest side of the New Amsterdam, docked at last. The glare of the sun was overly bright and he patted down his baggy pockets for a pair of sunglasses, finding them at last perched atop his forehead.

Tom reached out and wrapped an arm around Bill's waist, giving him a slow smile. "Not exactly. I'm bringing the best part home with me, after all."

Bill's delighted grin was reward enough by itself.

* * *

"Hoggle, daddy's home!" Tom called out, unable to contain the wide grin that broke out over his face. He tossed his keys into the heavy blown-glass bowl on the marble counter to the right of his doorway.

The proclamation was greeted by a rapid skitter-click of nails over polished wood flooring. There was a low, short whuff, then a louder, excited bark.

Beside him, Bill was bouncing excitedly on his toes, shedding laptop and shoulder-bag in the entryway to clap his hands. "I hope he likes me," was all he said.

Hoggle burst around the last corner, gave a joyous woof, and charged straight for Tom, wrapping himself bodily around Tom's legs in an excess of enthusiasm, his whiplike tail clubbing the backs of Tom's knees.

"Good boy, who's a good boy," Tom crooned, bending over his precious German shorthair and taking Hoggle's dark head in his hands. Hoggle shivered with joy and did a little dance in place, his nails clicking over the entryway tiles. He whined low in his throat as he whuffled happily over Tom's hands and panted dog-breath up into his face.

Tom laughed and rubbed his dog's head, petting over his back and flanks.

"What a sweet puppy, what a darling boy," Bill said, rapt as Tom had been upon first seeing the puppy in its cage at the Humane Society shelter.

Hoggle quivered under Tom's hands and his head swung up and around, floppy ears pricking as high as they were able. His dark eyes sought out the new person in the room. Still, Hoggle remained with Tom a moment longer, his whipcord body twining around Tom's legs as though determined to trip him where he stood. He whined until Tom petted him, barked when Tom wasn't fast enough to bend and pay him the required amount of attention after so long an absence, and flipped his head up hard enough to clock Tom's jaw if Tom hadn't been wise to his dog's tricks. He dodged Hoggle's head-butt and patted over the dog's sleek white side, which was peppered with dark spots and smudges of varying sizes.

Bill was already crouched, hands pressed together before him, when Hoggle finally went to investigate the newcomer. The German shorthair took a few tentative steps, like a nervous puppy, and sniffed at the hand that Bill held out – but did not shove – for his inspection. Hoggle nosed his way up Bill's hand from fingertips to wrist, made another whuffling noise, then hurled himself bodily at Bill, pawing at his front and butting his face into Bill's neck and jawline.

"Ahh...oof!" Bill toppled over onto his butt with a double armful of enthusiastic dog.

"Wow," Tom said, eyes wide. "I've never seen him take to anyone that fast."

Bill grinned up at him over Hoggle's sleek dark head, petting the waggling ears and down along the dog's neck and back. "Like master, like dog?"

"If anyone could capture Hoggle's affections without feeding him, it would be you," Tom allowed. "Plus, you smell good."

Bill laughed again, then squealed as Hoggle unfurled a pink tongue and plastered him with a sloppy wet dog kiss from jaw to hairline. "No, noo!"

"Keep him occupied and I'll get our bags inside," Tom said, and laughed without an ounce of sympathy as Bill continued to struggle with the dog that had bowled him over.

His chest swelled tight as he looked down at Bill and Hoggle, the man grinning and fending off his admirer with both hands, the dog wagging his tail so furiously that his whole body lurched from side to side. Still grinning, Tom braced the door open and began to carry their luggage in. Barely two trips in, the bags and suitcases spilled around the corner of the entryway into the right-hand hallway, which led toward the living room and the bedroom areas.

"Damn," Tom said at last, giving Hoggle an affectionate pat as the dog came to investigate. "You don't travel lightly."

"Of course not!" Bill returned, climbing to his feet and brushing off his black skinny jeans. Bleached white skulls had been patched onto each knee. For the plane ride he'd worn a fitted black tee inscribed with silvery metallic designs and no jewelry in concession to the security checkpoints. His fine-boned hands looked painfully bare. The striped hoodie that had been tied around his waist in Florida was over his shoulders now, though still unzipped. "I was gone for ten days, Tom. Besides, I'm so used to living out of my suitcases I just pack everything, everywhere I go."

"I know what you mean," Tom murmured, and toed the door shut as Hoggle bounced excitedly toward him.

"So," Bill said, looking past Tom at the mounded luggage. "Do I put my stuff in the spare bedroom, or..."

Tom licked his lips, aware of the layers in that question. On the one hand, putting Bill's things in one of Tom's spare rooms was a convenience issue. It would be polite to give Bill his own space, especially when his luggage exceeded Tom's by half again as much. By another measure, Tom didn't want Bill to have any space but _his_. Still, being together without boundaries at this point was a risky proposition.

"I think..." Tom began, watching Bill's face for clues as to his preference. Bill's expression was expectant, but otherwise neutral. "...if you're okay with it, put whatever you want in whatever spare room you like--"

There was the tiniest break in Bill's composed mask, and his brows pinched together in the beginnings of a hurt look.

"--and everything you need in my room," Tom rushed on to finish. Hoggle butted at his thigh with an impatient nose and Tom reached down to pet his dog again, stroking ears and sides.

Bill's face lit up. "Oh, well, that's everything, then," he said, cocking his head to one side and shooting Tom a lopsided smirk.

Tom laughed and crossed the few steps between them, reaching for Bill to snare him in his arms. He angled in for a kiss and was thwarted when Bill placed a hand between them, covering Tom's mouth.

"Stop," Bill declared. "Not with dog slobber all over me, Tom. I've got to wash my face, first."

Blanching, Tom had to agree. He leaned in to kiss the ear on the side that Hoggle hadn't lavished with his attentions, instead. "Why don't you get cleaned up, and I'll haul everything into the bedroom, and then..." he trailed off suggestively, thinking anticipatory thoughts of how Bill's beautifully pale skin would look against his dark red sheets. Which he'd gotten very recently, so they'd be breaking them in together.

Something wormed in between them, butting against Tom's thigh. Hoggle chuffed once, twice, then when Tom leaned in to kiss Bill's neck, he barked the short, authoritative bark that meant only one thing.

Tom groaned. "Or I could take Hoggle out for his evening pee."

"He wouldn't go on the floor, would he?" Bill said anxiously, not seeming inclined in the least to remove his hands from Tom's ass.

"No," Tom replied, "he'd go on my bathroom rug." It was green and of a fluffy enough texture that Hoggle, in his doggy mind, probably thought it was close enough when he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Oh," Bill said, producing a disappointed huff against Tom's cheek. "Well, let's take him out, then. Poor baby, have you been waiting for us for a long time?"

Hoggle barked again, turned in a tight circle, and skipped as though answering Bill's question.

"You want to come with?" Tom questioned. In the back of his head, he didn't trust Andreas not to arrange for a paparazzi shot even this early.

"Well, sure," Bill replied. He dug his sunglasses out of his pocket and pushed Hoggle's head away from his crotch without seeming bothered as the dog sniffed close to him, dowsing up along one slender thigh. "Unless you don't want me to...?"

"Not the case at all," Tom assured him, leaning to both kiss Bill's neck and pat at Hoggle's head as the dog produced an anxious whine, swiveling back and forth between two sets of legs. "Just thought you might not want the potential paparazzi exposure yet. Even though I told Andreas not yet, I can't guarantee there won't be one lurking with a telephoto lens."

Bill shrugged, making Tom envy the supreme unconcern that his lover displayed. He was hoping that Bill would be able to take the trappings of Tom's lifestyle in stride, but there was lingering unease on his part that this would backfire horribly.

Well, most of the backfire would probably be in his own reaction to potential test results, Tom could admit to himself.

"In your first post-vacation photos, the only thing that people will be talking about is your new hair, not who you're with," Bill pointed out.

"Oh," Tom said. "Right." He reached up to tug self-consciously at a braid.

"So unless we go out and neck in the streets, there won't be any sort of uproar," Bill continued, and breezed past Tom, patting him on the cheek. "So where's Hoggle's leash? Let's go for a walk."

Hoggle barked, having recognized at least two words in those sentences.

Tom licked his lips, reached for the closet door, and found Hoggle's sturdiest leash. Whenever Tom returned from a trip his dog-boy was always so excited he could test even Tom's strong grip, so it was best not to give him any avenue for escape.

Halfway down the first block of Tom's accustomed route – the one he used when there was still daylight, anyhow, to the nearby park so that Hoggle could kill the grass to his heart's content – the phone in Tom's pocket blared.

"Think you could get that?" Tom said between gritted teeth, holding onto Hoggle's leash with both hands as the German shorthair spotted a familiar tree and strained toward it with boundless enthusiasm.

Bill retrieved the phone from a baggy pocket, groping Tom's thigh in passing. To his credit it was probably unintentional, given the way Hoggle's gyrations were making Tom twist like a palm thrashed by a storm. "Tom Trümper's phone," he chirped. After a second, he covered the receiver with his hand and informed Tom, "It's Michael."

Tom nodded, juggled dog and phone, passed Hoggle's leash over to Bill with a mouthed injunction to use both hands, and held his phone to his ear. "This is Tom."

"Tomorrow morning," Michael said in his ear. "Do you have something to write an address down?"

"Uh, hold on," Tom said, and repeated the question to Bill, who gave him wide eyes and staggered forward a step as Hoggle took up any hint of slack in the leash, sensing weakness. "Just a sec, give the address to Bill, okay? He's got a pur—a shoulder bag, I'm sure he's got a pen and paper in there somewhere."

Bill gave him a mock glare as they traded leash for phone, and Tom took a couple of running steps to get Hoggle to his desired objective – the nearest tree.

"All right, I've got it," Bill said, and thumbed the phone off. He shrugged his shoulder bag back into place and slipped the phone into Tom's pocket. "What was that about?"

"Good boy," Tom said absently as Hoggle hosed down the unresisting tree. He glanced at Bill, then down at his shoes. "The test."

There was silence. After a few seconds, an arm insinuated into his. Tom took a deep breath, almost a sigh, as Bill pressed up against him, bringing their bodies into a hip-to-hip alignment.

"It's going to be okay," Bill said.

Tom envied him the ability to promise that so recklessly. If the test came back positive for every single allele in common, though, he couldn't be responsible for his reaction. He knew himself that well.

"I love you," he said helplessly, instead, and couldn't bring himself to care – if only for that moment.

They shared a kiss, and resumed their walk to the park. "We'd better wear him out," Tom said, slipping his arm free of Bill's and shifting his grip to Bill's hand before his lover could protest. "Or he's gonna want to participate."

"What do you...eww," Bill said, and huffed. "He's not allowed! Tom, don't you shut the door? I wouldn't expect you to crate him--"

"Good, I don't use a crate for my baby," Tom interjected.

"—but I wouldn't want him there in the room when we, uh, have our private time," Bill continued without pausing a beat.

"I do shut the door – I will – but if he's not worn out, he'll paw at the door and moan and bitch and howl and trust me, there is nothing more off-putting," Tom said, twitching on Hoggle's leash in yet another pathetic attempt to get him to heel. The dog cast a look over his shoulder as though to ask, 'are you kidding?'

"I can think of a few things," Bill replied, looking off into the middle distance. His eyes flickered back to Tom, who was looking worriedly at him, and he clarified, "Surprise children walking in on the festivities."

"Oh my god," Tom said, appalled. "That's happened to you?"

"Yeah," Bill confirmed, a chagrined expression sliding over his face. "Yeah, that was when I learned that just because the guy is gay and single, doesn't mean there's no kids to worry about; and really, it doesn't hurt to ask."

"I don't want to hear about other guys," Tom said, a frown knotting his brow at the very thought of someone else touching his Bill, stroking him in any number of the caresses and tactile attention that made that dazed pleasure-riveted look cross his face, pushing in and taking...or offering themselves up to be taken by Bill.

Bill could have responded in many ways to that statement. Instead of laughing, blowing it off, or making a crude joke about the catalog of Tom's alleged conquests, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Tom's earlobe, barely closing them over the flesh and flicking his tongue against it before murmuring in Tom's ear, "I love _you_." He resumed walking alongside Tom with an expression so flushed and brilliant that Tom could only beam back in response.

"I'm totally gay for you," Tom informed him. "And child-free, unless you count Hoggle. Just so we're clear."

Now Bill laughed, smacking Tom's thigh. They both broke into a half-jog as Hoggle barked several times and charged against his leash, seeing the gate to the park within reach.

"Let's wear him out," Bill said, a brow rising as he gave Tom a suggestive smile. "I've got plans for you that don't involve canine interaction."

Tom nodded, and looked down at Hoggle's bright dark eyes as the dog swiveled his gaze back and forth between them. "Who's up for a few thousand rounds of fetch?"

Hoggle brightened and Bill groaned, but trotted off to find a suitable stick.

* * *

After a prolonged lovemaking session in Tom's bed, they lay tangled up in the afterglow for a good long while. Tom had held Bill's hips and screwed into him so slowly and thoroughly that he made Bill moan, they knocked the headboard against the wall, and together ended up moving so fast and frantic they were drenched with sweat before they came with nearly simultaneous orgasms and unrestrained yells. At last, after lazing in bed, bodily needs and Hoggle's increasing whimpers reasserted priorities outside of bed and they got up to share a long shower. Without talking about it, neither of them had made the time to go for a condom. There had been a vial of warming oil in the bedstand and for the first time in perhaps years, Tom had put it to good use. As they both puttered around the bathroom in boxers and nothing else, Tom sat on the edge of the tub and answered his phone while watching Bill apply makeup at his sink. 

Tom found that he was enjoying watching Bill settle in and unpack his toiletries amongst Tom's things, making space for himself where before there had been only one.

He thumbed the phone on, stretched, and answered it with a grin. "Tom Trümper."

"Jesus, that's your just-got-laid voice," Georg said in his ear, sounding queasy. "Did I call at a bad time?"

"I wouldn't answer the phone mid-coitus, if that's what you're asking," Tom said, raising a brow, and grinned at the comical expression Bill pulled at him in the mirror. It still scared him, seeing Bill's mostly-bare face in the mirror and how closely he resembled Tom, especially with dark hair now framing both their faces.

They wouldn't be who they were if they didn't look alike, Tom supposed.

"So what's the deal with your new boyfriend?" Georg asked bluntly. "That still going on, or have you managed to score someone between the airport and your long-awaited homecoming?"

"Bill came home with me," Tom replied. "We're going to spend time together before we have to go back to work."

Georg groaned so theatrically that Tom rolled his eyes. "Damn, Tom, you have really got it bad," he informed Tom, as if Tom didn't know already.

He'd let Bill put _shoes_ in his closet. In fact, Bill had already taken up an entire rack for his own clothes.

"What do you want?" Tom asked calmly, instead of addressing Georg's accusation.

"Let's go out for dinner tonight, the three of us," Georg said.

"No way, I wanted to have dinner with Bill tonight at my favorite restaurant," Tom replied, switching hands and passing the phone to his other ear. He watched the lift of Bill's head that indicated Tom's end of the conversation had his attention. "The two of us, no uninvited guests."

"Come on, you can't keep Bill to yourself forever," Georg said, making Tom screw his face up into a contrary grimace. "Besides, you know you pine when you're away from me for too long."

"Ha!" Tom burst out before he could stop himself. "Oh, Georg. Who pines for who? You know you missed my ass."

Bill's head jerked up in the mirror and Tom made a quick conciliatory gesture, trying to convey through sign language that he hadn't meant it as he'd realized it came across. Bill shook his head and stuck his tongue out at Tom, putting the bead of his tongue stud on display. Tom mimed a particularly obscene gesture to that, complete with pumping hand action, and Bill laughed aloud.

"Whatever, we can argue over it later. Over dinner. Don't subject poor Bill to that hole in the wall with its crappy pizza and crappier beer," Georg counseled.

Tom heaved a sigh. On the one hand, he wanted to keep Bill to himself for as long as possible. At least until the results of the test came in. On the other, he wanted to show Bill off and it had been a while since he'd seen Georg - pretty much his only remaining friend. He locked eyes with Bill and lifted his chin.

"How about it; you want to meet Georg?" Tom asked, letting his tone hint strongly that he'd prefer almost anything but.

Bill's face lit up. "You want to introduce me to your best friend?"

"I heard that," Georg said on the other end of the phone.

Tom groaned and palmed his forehead. His fate was sealed on both sides of the line. "All right, where and when?"

"Eight," Georg said.

Tom glanced at his wrist and drew a breath in.

"You didn't really think you were going to bone him again before dinner, did you?" Georg inquired shrewdly, sounding amused.

"I had hopes," Tom said obliquely, and lifted a hand to settle over Bill's non-starred hip when his lover wandered over to stand athwart his knees, draping a proprietary arm over Tom's neck and shoulders.

Bill chuckled, guessing the content of that exchange. "You can have me later," he whispered into Tom's other ear. "Besides, I'm getting hungry and plane food is for shit, even if it is first class." He rubbed his thigh against Tom and his long, gloriously lean-muscled leg pressed against Tom's chest, his belly grazing Tom's lips.

"I gotta go," Tom blurted, hooking his free hand into Bill's boxers. Maybe if they were quick...

Bill laughed, smacked his hand as though he were a naughty puppy, and danced across the bathroom to pick up a brush and pull it through his hair.

"Fine, jackass, I'll text you with a restaurant name after I make reservations," Georg told him.

"Uh-huh," Tom told the phone, getting up from the edge of the tub and homing in for Bill's hip. The black star looked as though it was in need of some of his tender loving care.

"Okay, bye," Georg said with a laugh, hanging up on him.

Tom's attempts to have his way with Bill were blocked on all fronts until he was ready to step out of the penthouse for dinner. He was the recipient of several enthusiastic kisses, possibly Bill's attempt to placate him or simply because Bill couldn't keep his hands off Tom's sexy bod, as Tom preferred to think. When the lip gloss went on, though, Bill told him he'd have better luck getting kisses out of Hoggle.

So Tom donned a dark, patterned bandanna, took the hint, and went to play with his German shorthair until Bill was ready to go, or Georg texted him with a restaurant. Whichever came first.

As it happened, they both came at around the same time while Tom was still in the middle of a rousing game of tug-the-rope with Hoggle. He tossed the rope for the far end of the living room and Hoggle peeled out after it, baying as though he were on the hunt.

"Ugh, Bill, you look way too sexy; you should go change," Tom said at once, straightening his shirt and smoothing it down over his front as he got to his feet.

Bill breezed through the living room, heels clacking over the hardwood floor. He gave Tom a serene smile and didn't appear to take the command with the least bit of seriousness.

"I mean, what if I get confused and start trying to eat you instead of dinner?" Tom continued, running his eyes up and down Bill's gorgeous body. In the back of his head, fears still lurked but overall a kind of equilibrium had been restored. He wanted Bill, Bill wanted him, they were each other's everything; all was right with the world. When he thought back to when Bill had tried to leave him – how Tom could have gone the other direction, and let him – it only provoked cold sweat and a bone-deep terror. Every part of him, undivided, wanted to keep Bill in his life no matter what.

Tonight Bill was wearing a tailored black dress shirt with ruffles down the front. It was open to the second button and he wore three layers of silver necklaces threaded on black cord, one of them choker-length. The shirt was over a pair of black slacks, low-riding so that Tom could see the star peeking at him where the shirt was cut high on the side. His boots looked like real snakeskin. On anyone else, Tom would have instantly called "nancy boy" for the ruffled shirt, but on Bill, it pretty much made Tom want to have sex with him. Right then, on the couch.

"Later," Bill said, interpreting the look on Tom's face with uncanny accuracy. "Right now we're off to meet Georg, yeah?"

Tom grumbled something resembling assent and went to get the door.

The restaurant was hip, trendy, and a short cab hop from Tom's building. Tom was about to ask the maitre-d' for the Listing reservation when he spotted a familiar head at the bar.

"All right, this way," he said, guiding Bill to the bar with a hand at the small of his lover's back.

Before they quite reached him, Georg swiveled his chair around, checking his watch and lifting his head in a searching gesture.

"Hey," Tom greeted him from a few feet away, and Georg's handsome face split in an easy grin.

"Hey yourself, man," Georg returned.

Beside Tom, Bill lifted his hand in a little wave.

"Oh, my God, you're too good for him," Georg said at once, holding out a hand for Bill's.

Bemused, Bill placed his hand into Georg's and watched as his fingers were lifted up for Georg to brush a kiss over the knuckles. "You know I'm not a woman, right?"

"I think Tom's got the right idea; I'm pretty sure I'd go gay for you," Georg said with a small laugh.

"Quit hitting on my man," Tom spoke up, easing himself onto the barstool beside Georg and making a long arm for Bill.

Bill turned to him with a quick, lit-from-within grin and withdrew his hand from Georg's, placing it in Tom's instead.

"Wow," Georg said after a moment, watching Tom reel Bill in. Rather than seat himself, Bill stood between Tom's knees and draped his arms around Tom's shoulders. "Wow, I mean, seriously, Tom, did you do something right in a previous life? Because you've been pretty naughty in this one."

"Tell me about it," Tom mumbled, hooking his arm around Bill's waist and resting the flat of his hand above Bill's ass. Barely. "Can we get seated, or what?"

"I'll go find out," Georg assured him, and got up to check.

They were shown to a quiet table apart from the main floor; the restaurant's equivalent of a VIP area, and given a wine list and menus. While browsing, Tom found Bill's foot pressed against his, and he glanced over and smiled when their eyes met.

"Okay, tell me how you guys met," Georg commanded when they'd placed their orders.

Tom, not ready to let go of his lingering vacation afterglow, had ordered a rum and coke, and Bill had done the same. While they waited, he sipped at the table water provided.

"Oh, Tom was a raging asshole to me the first four times we met," Bill said matter-of-factly, taking Tom's hand and squeezing it as though to make up for any sting that his words caused.

"Typical Tom," Georg chortled, looking over at Tom to laugh. He did a double-take. "Wait...Tom, where did all of your hair go?"

"Holy shit, it took you that long to notice?" Tom returned, stunned. "I thought you were being a dick and not saying anything on purpose!"

Georg shook his head, staring openly. "Naw, I was too busy checking out Bill to notice your, ah, renovations. Damn...what made you cut your dreads off? You've had them forever!"

"About twenty years," Tom said, playing it off with a cool shrug. "Definitely time for a change, you know?"

"I guess," Georg said dubiously. He gave himself a little shake. "So, the two of you...?"

"Oh, I could tell he wanted me," Bill said, waving his hand expansively. "So I was patient and gave him a few chances to prove he wasn't a complete asshole, then I bagged him."

Tom shook his head. "That's not how it went at all..." he began, sure there had been at least a bit more romancing on his part, as well as one very stupid, almost final mistake.

"I'm sure it's close enough," Georg interrupted. "Bill, I can see why Tom wants you - God, who wouldn't? But I'm a little curious as to why you're into a loser like him." He said it with a big grin, so Tom decided not to be a jerk and kick him under the table or stick a fork in his strumming hand.

Bill's eyes met his in a sideways glance brimming with mischief. Tom's lips began to tug upward in response.

"It's his outrageously huge cock," Bill declared.

Tom nodded solemnly and smirked across the table at Georg, who gaped at both of them.

"No, really," Georg said after a moment.

"I have my reasons!" Bill said with a laugh of his own. "And I'm not into him for his money; I have enough of my own and I'd sign a pre-nup if he'd agree to marry me."

Tom choked on his glass of water. "If _I_...But you...on the ship, we..." He cut off and pounded on his chest to clear his airway.

"Sorry, Tomi," Bill said penitently. "I should know better than to spring the 'm' word on you when your mouth is full."

Georg looked a bit wild-eyed. "You know you guys can't get married, right?"

Tom's head swung up. "What? Why?" he asked, suddenly terrified that he'd seen it – the resemblance so many had remarked upon.

"Dude, it's New York," Georg said pointedly. "You'd have to move to Massachusetts or someplace."

"Or Iowa," Bill said with a bright smile.

"Ugh," Tom replied. "I'd rather buy a time share in Vermont."

"All right, so you two are a couple of crazy kids in love," Georg said, speaking from the seniority standpoint of the three years he held over Tom's head at most times. "What next?"

Tom looked at Bill and found his lover gazing right back, quizzical and soft and so breathtaking Tom was sure, at least for the moment, that he wanted to maintain his grip on Bill and never let go.

"Well," Tom said, moistening his lips with a nervous tongue, "we're still trying to figure that out."

The prospect of tomorrow's test loomed like a huge dark blot at the edge of his vision, a shadow lurking out of sight but still there. Tom knew that the real outcome to Georg's innocent question hinged on that one crucial test. Bill complemented all of the empty spaces within Tom of which he'd either been previously unaware, or tried to fill with all of the wrong things.

Worse, Tom would have to leave him because Bill couldn't – Tom would become the asshole again, and make Bill hate him, drive him off so he'd never want to see Tom again. He knew he could do it. He knew he would have to, if the test came back and told him what they both suspected.

What Bill was already sure of, in his heart. Now Tom was forcing the issue out into the open, and he was terrified that he was about to ruin the best thing in his life.


	18. Chapter 18

Tom woke up on his side with his face squashed up against the length of a bare, elegant neck and inhaled the scent of pure happiness. "Bill," he murmured, tightening his arm over the lean body against his.

"Mmm," Bill responded, low and pleased, and wriggled in the half-circle of his arm.

Tom pressed kisses to the warm flesh of Bill's neck and up along his jaw. "You feel so good," he murmured. When Bill tipped his head to the side, Tom got up on one elbow to pursue Bill's mouth.

"Mm," Bill grunted, his noise protesting. Now he wriggled to escape, turning his face away. "Morning breath, babe."

"Like I'm gonna let that stop me," Tom told him, reaching now to tip Bill's face up toward him. Despite his protest, Bill was wearing a little smile and his dark eyes hooded with pleasure as Tom bent for another kiss. 

They shifted into a better position as the kiss deepened and Tom played his tongue over the full contours of Bill's mouth before dipping inside. He braced himself on his arms over Bill, their bodies pressing together from the waist down, legs tangling. Tom gave Bill's mouth soft, exploratory probes of tongue until at last the tip of Bill's tongue joined his.

"Ahh," Bill sighed into his mouth. His hands curved over Tom's spine and palmed his ass firmly enough to bring their bodies together more forcefully. They both grunted and Tom closed his mouth over Bill's, forming a seal and sucking his pierced tongue into his mouth. They rubbed together in slow, lazy movements, building arousal between them but not quickening the pace.

Tom groaned as Bill's hands flexed and massaged his buttocks, separating the cheeks a little. He broke the kiss, his tongue leaving Bill's mouth last, and raised his head in confusion as one of Bill's fingers trailed into his cleft and rubbed at his hole. It didn't feel bad, but it was weird as hell. No one had ever touched him there before. He'd put a stop to the few girls who'd tried, thinking erroneously that a rockstar like Tom had to go for exotic sex acts.

"What...?" Tom began, and the finger retreated. Bill grabbed his ass in both hands again, palming, squeezing.

"Hmm?" Bill hummed an inquisitive note. He was flushed, bright-eyed. " _You_ feel so good, Tom."

"Oh," Tom said, his eyes widening. As Bill bit his lip and looked up at him with reddening cheeks and heavy-lidded, sparkling eyes, fingers flexing like lazy cat-paws while he kneaded Tom's ass, the mental connection flipped. "Oh, you want...did you want...something?"

Now Bill's eyes glinted with suppressed mirth. "Do _you_ want something, Tom?" he purred, and pressed a finger into Tom's cleft again.

Tom's eyes fluttered shut and he lowered his head, kissing Bill harder and grinding their cocks together. Bill was hard between their bellies and as the tip of his dick moved against Tom's stomach, it left a trail of pre-come. "God," Tom moaned, and moved against Bill again. He tried to imagine it. Bill's fingertip brushed against his hole again as their mouths worked together hungrily.

There was the briefest bark to warn them. Springs squeaked and the bed dipped beneath them as it was joined by a third party.

"Hog _gle_ ," Tom groaned, as Bill squeaked and his hands retracted.

Bill moved to grasp the sheet, rolling and dislodging Tom.

"Damn it, boy," Tom sighed, sitting up and making sure the sheet was wrapped over his waist, at least. He bent a knee to protect his wilting hard-on as Hoggle surged forward, taking the fact that he'd been addressed for an invitation.

"Be nice to him," Bill protested, drawing the sheet up to his chest demurely as he tucked himself into a ball beside their crushed pillows. "He didn't do anything wrong, so far as he's concerned."

"Oh, I know," Tom said ruefully, petting over his dog's dark head as Hoggle eagerly thrust his muzzle toward Tom's chest. "He needs to go out. I only wish he had better timing."

Bill grinned over at him and waggled his eyebrows. "About a half-hour to an hour longer?"

"Yeah," Tom said, and sighed. His whole body was tight and tingling and despite the interruption, he definitely wanted to continue. And even though he was sure Bill was probably open enough, ready enough from the night before, something told Tom that if they'd continued, it might not have necessarily been with Bill on the receiving end of their lovemaking. "Yeah, at least."

"Tom," Bill began, a pensive look crossing his face.

"Oh shit," Tom yelped, glancing past Bill for the bedside clock. "The test, we've got an hour to get ready and get over there..."

Bill's face fell.

"...and that's not what you were going to say, was it," Tom concluded.

Bill's mouth twitched. "No, it wasn't," he agreed. "I was only going to say, if you're not ready yet, I totally understand. I don't want you to think I'm pushing."

Tom nodded, not even pretending that he didn't know exactly what Bill was talking about. "I...I'm thinking about it," he replied, and wet his lips with his tongue, finding them somewhat chapped.

Bill hugged his knees. "Want to share your general thoughts?" he invited, cocking his head to one side. He appeared curious, rather than anxious or demanding, and so incredibly beautiful that Tom wanted to tip him over into the sheets right then and there.

After shutting Hoggle out, of course. The bathroom rug was easy enough to replace...

Tom shook his head, then blinked when Bill's eyes widened. "No, I didn't mean...sorry, went off on a mental tangent there. I...I'm not...opposed?" he said, hoping it would convey the confusing mix of arousal and reflexive resistance that he'd been grappling with since Bill had rubbed himself directly against his ass the day before.

God, he kind of wanted Bill to do that again right now. At the least, it would help Tom formulate a firm opinion. Or he'd feel Bill, firm, against him.

Bill broke into an enormous, relieved grin. "Good, I'm so glad," he said happily, clapping his hands together as though Tom had bestowed him with an unexpected gift.

Tom groaned, leaning onto one arm to bring himself closer to Bill. "You have got to stop being so sexy, or I'm going to try to have my way with you right here and now," he said, trying to catch Bill with his lips parted.

Bill yelped and held him away with both hands.

"What, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Tom exclaimed, worried.

Bill shook his head and mutely indicated further up the bed with a chin lift. Tom glanced over at Hoggle, sitting smack in the middle of the bed, tail wagging and head cocked expectantly.

"We are not doing it," Bill said in a tone of absolute authority, "in front of the puppy."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I just wanted a kiss."

"Uh-uh, mister," Bill responded, smacking at Tom's hand as it moved to settle on Bill's knee. "With you, a kiss turns into full-out necking, then you move to second base when you've disabled my higher brain functions, and the next thing I know, I'm on my stomach and the dog is watching while you penetra—"

"All right, all right!" Tom interrupted hastily, casting about for any handy clothing to don before he climbed out of bed. There wasn't any, so he was going to have to make the long walk to the closet and while he was there, might as well get all the way dressed. "I'm going to take him out – you joining us?"

Bill made wide eyes at him and shook his head. "Are you kidding? You want me dressed and ready in time to make it to the appointment, right?"

Tom nodded, tongued at his lip ring, and let himself dwell appreciatively on the lines of Bill's body that were visible by the drape of the sheet. "Later, then."

Bill grinned and tucked his head to one side atop his knees. "Get going, shoo." He waved them off.

Tom whistled as he climbed out of bed. "Come on, Hoggle, let's go for a walk!"

Hoggle answered with an excited bark and scrambled to follow. He made a few running steps for the door of the bedroom, then turned around and pranced in place excitedly as though asking Tom 'what's the hold up?'

Tom couldn't help but smile at his pup's enthusiasm. "After daddy takes a piss and gets decent, sweetheart."

"Ah, that'll take all morning, then," Bill joked, making Tom swivel and try out his most threatening glare.

Bill seemed pretty much unfazed. "Hurry up," he advised, "and if you're good, I'll see if I can burn you some toast."

* * *

Halfway through the cab ride, Tom pulled his hand away from Bill's and folded his arms over his chest, gazing moodily out the front window. That morning, and the evening before, had been so idyllic that Tom had been able to forget for a while that a difficult choice was yet ahead of him. Georg and Bill had gotten along as though they'd been friends for years, and it had been a pleasant evening overall despite the fact that most of the jokes had been at Tom's expense. Before they had parted for the night, Georg had made Tom promise to bring Bill by Tuesday's band meeting, to have him meet everyone else.

"Something tells me Bill's going to be a more or less permanent fixture in your life from now on," Georg had said wisely.

Bill had beamed at him, and Tom's mouth had twitched. "More or less," had been the only response he could summon up.

Even if they weren't together, if the test proved they _were_ twins...

After that, Tom and Bill had returned to Tom's penthouse and while Bill had unpacked more of his essentials, Tom had taken Hoggle for a full-out run, hoping to tire his endlessly inventive dog enough for him to leave them alone for a few hours and not find any fresh mischief to inflict on the penthouse. Mission successful, Tom had returned to Bill and they'd spent their remaining hours of consciousness tangled up and sweaty together in the burgundy sheets that Tom had stuffed into the washer before they'd left for their appointment. Tom had murmured something about condoms and Bill had shaken his head, drawing Tom back down to his body with insistent hands.

"Tom," Bill said, appearing small and forlorn on the other side of the cab bench.

Tom shook his head. "We should get tested," he said aloud, wanting to get that out in the open while he was still thinking about it.

Bill's brow creased. "Tom, we're on our way to—"

"No, I mean...the other kind of test," Tom said, twiddling the fingers of his left hand over his forearm. "To make sure we're both, you know...negative."

"I'm sure we are," Bill said, his voice soft.

"You hope we are," Tom countered, and closed his eyes briefly, casting his head up. If he had anything, and he'd given it to Bill, it would wreck him. He wouldn't forgive himself. "We should just..."

"Fine," Bill said, the word dropping quietly, so quietly, into the space between them. "Let's make an appointment for that, too, then."

Tom nodded. He wondered if he could arrange for that today, as well, because now that he'd experienced sex without a condom, it was definitely something he wanted to continue.

With Bill, only with Bill.

"Can we still...?" Bill began, and when Tom looked over, he said quietly, "...without..." and mouthed the word, 'condoms.'

Tom grimaced. He knew he should say no; he definitely knew he should be responsible, if Bill wouldn't, and set some out on his nightstand to make it clear that they'd be safe until they got the all clear. Beyond the prospect that they were both pretty sure they were clean, though, was the superstitious certainty that if they had anything, they'd already given it to one another. At last, clinging to that almost surely illogical thought, he nodded. "I don't want to hurt you," he said anyhow.

"You won't," Bill replied, looking at Tom with such trust that it made his heart clench.

 _I might have to_ , went through Tom's mind, and he bit down hard on his lip.

When the cab pulled to a halt at last in the middle of an unfamiliar curb, Tom groped blindly for money from his wallet and passed over a folded-up note without checking the denomination as he scrambled after Bill. The second the cab stopped, Bill had slid out of the suddenly-open door as though pursued. The cab driver thanked him and Tom barely heard it, focused on Bill, who stood at the curb with his shoulders hunched and his arms wrapped around him like a shield.

"Hey," Tom said, joining him and trying to take hold of Bill's hand, but it was wrapped around the joint of his opposite arm in a death grip. "Come on, we...we're here."

Bill shook his head, reaching up to adjust his sunglasses and meet Tom's eyes. "Tom, let's skip it," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Let's forget about it, go to lunch, Staten Island, a Broadway show, something...anything."

Tom reached for Bill's hand again and relaxed by an increment when Bill let him take it. "Skip the test?" he questioned.

"Yes," Bill said, slumping as though he already knew Tom's answer. "I changed my mind, I...I don't want to, anymore."

"Why not?" Tom asked, wanting to pull Bill into his arms and stroke his flat-ironed black hair, but looking nervously around the crowded sidewalk instead.

"I'm terrified," Bill whispered, making Tom step closer in order to hear him. "I feel like you're slipping away from me."

Tom shook his head. "I'm right here."

Bill closed his eyes, licked his lips, and swallowed, taking a breath. He opened his eyes and riveted Tom with an intense gaze. "And after?"

Tom sighed. "We have to do this," he said, adding brutally, "this was _your_ idea."

Bill inhaled as though he'd been slapped and his eyes sparked with quick fire. "Fine," he said, nodding at last. "Fine, let's go." His hand convulsed in Tom's, but Tom refused to let go.

For now.

The building front was like so many that Tom had passed by or entered; gray-faced, rows of windows shuttered with beige blinds, a revolving door beside a single glass door labeled "pull." Functioning on auto-pilot, Tom pushed instead and grumbled when Bill reached around him to pull it open. Somewhere during the process of crossing the gray-flecked black granite floor of the lobby, they disengaged their hands. Bill crossed his arms over his front again and Tom buried his hands in his pockets to prevent any nervous fidgeting.

The firm that did the genetic testing was a small suite on the first floor. When Tom pushed the door open, the waiting area was deserted, and the front desk untended. As he loomed at the counter, peering around for anyone who might be able to help, a woman in a white lab coat hurried toward him. She had a milk-pale complexion and red blooms of color in her cheeks, and her golden hair was pulled back in a neat coif, not a single strand of hair escaping.

"Are you the twelve-thirty?" the woman asked him with a faintly harried expression. "Sorry, but our admin assistant is out today."

"Yes, and we just got here," Tom said.

The woman nodded, craning her neck and evidently spotting Bill in the waiting room. "Together, or separate?"

Bill spoke up behind Tom before he had a chance to open his mouth. "Together," Bill said.

Helplessly, Tom nodded when the lab tech turned quizzical light blue eyes on him.

"All right, come with me please, through that door there," she said, nodding to the door beside the counter.

It was locked from the waiting area side, and she opened it for them, shifting a clipboard into the crook of her arm.

"I'm Sam Bennett," she told them, giving Tom a brief, firm handshake, then extending for Bill's. "I don't need your names. I understand this is to be completely confidential."

"That's right," Tom said with a nod, bending his head and tonguing at his lip ring. The fact that she didn't recognize him should probably not be much of a surprise – she certainly didn't look like the kind of woman that would be hitting concerts like his band put on. Then again, one never knew.

"Right this way," she said.

Sam led them to a featureless white room lined with stainless steel counters. In the center, there was a table lined with four chairs. She set her clipboard down and gestured them to seat themselves, and bustled off to one of the drawers on the far side of the room. The door snicked shut softly behind them.

As they seated themselves at the table, Tom looked around for something that would perform a blood draw. It was unlike any lab he'd ever visited. He sat on the edge of his seat and his knee jumped up and down. He wanted to reach for Bill's hand, but Bill was facing away from Tom, oriented on the lab tech across the room, his face drawn down in unhappy lines.

"What are we testing for?" Sam asked casually, returning to the table and setting down a pair of what looked like elongated Q-tips capped in opaque plastic.

Tom looked over at Bill, who was studiously not looking at him. "Uh, we want a DNA comparison," he replied. "The two of us. To see if we're twins."

Sam seated herself, looking back and forth between the two of them with active curiosity in her pale blue eyes. "Identical, or fraternal?" she asked. She was so calm about it.

"Identical," Bill said, very subdued.

"Huh," Sam uttered, frowning now. She looked back and forth between them. "I don't see it." She shrugged.

Tom looked down at his bouncing knee and made an effort of will to bring it to a halt. He hadn't taken Hoggle for the full-course walk that morning, and he had energy to burn after a good night's sleep. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

"How do we do this?" Tom said, as Sam lifted up one of the capped Q-tips.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sam said, not looking one bit penitent. "I'm going to get a cheek swab from each of you. We aren't entering you into our system at all, so if you can pay in cash, or make out a check to--"

"I can pay in cash," Tom interrupted flatly.

"Great," Sam said with a nod. "Once we've got your cheek swabs, we'll run the test. We'll do it more than once, to be certain we're giving you accurate results. And you wanted the results how soon?"

"As soon as possible," Bill said, sitting up straighter.

Sam nodded again. "That's fine. Our lab is closed on weekends, but we can mail the results – if you pay for express, it should get to you tomorrow."

Tom's throat cinched shut. He looked over at Bill, who was biting his lip and gripping the table in white-knuckled hands.

"Fine," Tom managed. That soon? He thought he'd get to spend the weekend with Bill, at least.

"Couldn't you call?" Bill asked.

"I assumed neither of you would want cell phone records from our lab," Sam said, looking back and forth between them. Her expression was studiedly neutral.

Tom nodded. "Good thinking," he rasped. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Sam responded. She lifted her swab again and thumbed at the wand on the side of it with a gloved hand, retracting the cap. "Open up, please?" She leaned for Bill first.

Bill turned his head and opened his mouth, arms still crossed tightly over his front with the air of a child unwilling to take medicine or something equally unpleasant. Sam dipped the swab in and out of Bill's mouth, capped it, and picked up a black marker.

"Your initials, please," she requested.

"BK," Bill replied. His eyes flashed over to Tom's before glancing quickly away.

Sam labeled the first swab, picked up the second, and looked expectantly at Tom, who leaned closer and opened his mouth without being asked.

It took only a second. The swab glided against Tom's inner cheek. The lab tech capped it, and it was done.

"TT," Tom told her.

"All right," she said. "I need your address and payment, and we're done."

Bill stood, pacing alongside the table as Tom scrawled his address down on the mailing label that was pinned to the clipboard. The lab tech named a sum that didn't even make Tom blink, and he counted bills out into her hand. The fatalistic dread that he was doing something irrevocable, something he shouldn't, crept over him as he let go of the last hundred and shoved his wallet into his back pocket.

"That's it," Sam said.

"So easy," Bill said behind Tom, sounding bitter.

Sam nodded. "You'll have the results in hand by tomorrow."

She didn't thank them as she ushered them out, for which Tom was grateful. As they re-entered the waiting area, Sam said, "Take care" to which Bill responded with an over the shoulder wave and Tom said, "you too."

He tried to take Bill's elbow as they left the private suite. Bill jerked out of his grasp and turned on him, his eyes blazing.

"What's your problem?" Tom wanted to know.

"You, Tom, you're my problem," Bill said, but his expression crumbled and he looked ready to collapse.

"Hey, don't," Tom said, approaching Bill, gathering him into his arms and sighing when Bill let him. "Don't do that. Why are you so upset? You're already convinced, aren't you?"

Bill shook his head, dark bristles of hair fanning against Tom's cheek with the movement. "But you're not," he murmured. "What is this going to change, Tom? What's it going to prove to you?"

"Later," Tom croaked, his throat clogging up with tension again. "Let's talk about it later, okay?" _It should change everything,_ he couldn't say. He wasn't ready to face Bill's impassioned arguments.

Bill groaned in frustration and put his arms around Tom, hands rubbing firm circles over his back. "What now?"

Tomorrow was incredibly fast; it loomed hard in the forefront of Tom's mind. He'd have to do everything he could to defer thinking about it until later, because he couldn't stop time.

"Lunch," he replied, pinching Bill's ribs. "Come on, let's have lunch, we'll both feel better. No more of this heavy thinking on empty stomachs."

Bill gave him a wan stare, nodding at last. "Okay. Okay. And you better buy me ice cream, because I think that was the worst doctor's visit I've ever had."

"You're on," Tom said, all too glad to promise something so easily attainable.

* * *

It was impossible for the two of them to roam freely up and down the busy streets as Tom might have liked, new hairstyle or no. Although the thought crossed his mind, recalling the fact that their lead singer had nearly been scalped when a group of girls had converged on him and gone, god knew why, for his _hair_ , put a stop to Tom's wandering tendencies.

They couldn't wander most of the typical landmarks until Tom arranged for a bodyguard-accompanied tour. Tom was down over not being able to provide Bill with an authentic New York experience for a moment until he spotted a hot dog cart up the street. It would be on their way to catching a cab.

"Want a hot dog?" Tom offered, already reaching for his wallet. His mouth began to salivate at the prospect of a genuine street-cart-fresh New York dog.

Bill cast him a look horrified enough to imply he'd suggested they eat Hoggle for lunch. "You're joking."

"Come on, they're all beef," Tom wheedled.

"The only thing that long, thick, and pink going between my lips is your cock," Bill declared, making a pair of business-suited women do a brief double take in passing. "Do you know what's _in_ those, Tom? They're disgusting."

Tom was still hung up on the prospect of being in Bill's mouth. "Uh, what?" he asked intelligently, picturing the slide of his cock over Bill's sinfully plush lips.

Bill snorted. The stress lines had eased from his face, and he seemed amused now. "Thank you for the offer; no, I don't want a hot dog. They're bad for you, chock full of nitrates."

"Okay, no hot dogs," Tom said regretfully, and lifted a hand to hail the closest approaching cab.

They ended up at an upscale bar that was open for lunch hours and not available to the general public. It wasn't so much that Tom wanted to take Bill to exclusive places, although he did want him all to himself, as it was a consideration for their safety and wanting to remain more or less undisturbed. The bar offered a decent lunch menu and they ordered a few different dishes and shared them, while Tom tried not to stay too far ahead of Bill in drinks.

"You shouldn't drink so much," Bill told him. "You're going to be no good for me, later."

The admonishment was needed, perhaps, as Tom had placed an order for his third martini and they were only halfway through lunch. The tone and the timing struck Tom all wrong, as the admonition was delivered when he had a glass halfway to his lips. He sipped at his martini, set it down, and said, "What's the big deal? It's only a drink."

"On top of the two you've already had," Bill observed.

"So?" Tom shot back, getting defensive. "It's not like I'm driving..."

"You can't," Bill reminded him. "Your license is suspended because of drunk driving. And I'm only saying, I'd prefer it if you didn't drink any more than you have - it's not like we're still on vacation."

Tom rubbed the stem of the martini between his thumb and fingers, making it skid somewhat over the varnished surface. "You're sounding like a nagging wife - and we're not married!" Tom burst out, curt. He was tempted to pick up the martini and drain it down out of spite, but recognized it for a bad idea. The warm glow of goodwill that two drinks had given him was dispersing under the weight of building conflict, anyhow.

Bill's face went white and rigid and a hiss of breath flared through his nostrils as he drew himself upright. "In case you've forgotten lately, I am not a woman," Bill said, words sharp and so cold they might well have dripped frost. "Though I suppose if we were married, I'm the woman so far as you're concerned?"

"That...what?" Tom said numbly, unwilling to admit he was too drunk for this fight but struggling to catch up to the abrupt skid Bill had thrown into the conversation.

"So long as you're doing the fucking, right? I mean, it's not even really gay so long as you're not taking it up the ass," Bill said, his eyes hard. "And whoever takes it must be the woman in the relationship, huh?"

"I didn't even say any of that!" Tom burst out, incredulous.

"But you're not denying any of it," Bill said, uncrossing his legs and tossing his napkin onto his plate, which was heaped with half-eaten food.

"Wait, where are you going?" Tom demanded, half-rising as Bill got to his feet.

"I'm not your little woman, Tom," Bill said, grabbing his shoulder bag. "Maybe I gave you the wrong impression, letting _you_ top all the time. I can go wherever I want to."

"I know you can," Tom said plaintively. "But where..."

"Away from you," Bill responded, his face red, his eyes unhappy. He started to back for the narrow staircase that led to the downstairs area of the double-decker bar. The second floor was for VIPs, though not advertised as such, and Tom and Bill had enjoyed their meal undisturbed so far.

"Don't...don't go," Tom said, getting to his feet and grasping the back of his chair. He had the dazed sensation he'd stumbled into the middle of an argument he didn't realize they'd been having.

He was sure he'd plowed right into one of Bill's hidden issues again.

"Why not?" Bill demanded, holding himself stiffly, arms crossing over his chest again.

"Because if you run away, how am I supposed to apologize?"

Bill made a low noise and his posture warmed, but his face remained flinty. "Go on," he said.

"I'm an asshole, and I'm sorry," Tom said. He'd figured out where he'd gone so badly wrong the last time he'd stepped his foot in it – Bill had given him a few opportunities to apologize, and Tom had taken none of them. Just because Bill loved him now didn't mean he wouldn't put him through hell if he made that mistake again.

"And?" Bill said, a flawless dark brow arching.

Tom had to think about it for a moment. "And I don't think you're a woman," he said, putting all his sincerity into his eyes. That had been so far from his mind it had shocked him a little when Bill had seemed to fixate on that point. "It was a stupid, off-hand remark. It's a dumb saying, you know? I didn't mean it..."

"All right," Bill interrupted, and strode back to Tom, his brown eyes unreadable. "I wish you hadn't said it."

"Me, too," Tom said, ducking his head and looking at the third martini, trying to recall why he'd ordered it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but did he really need it? He had Bill. He should be making the most of their time together. "You're right, I shouldn't drink any more, and I'm an idiot."

"Well, so long as you know," Bill murmured, reaching up to stroke Tom's cheek with the tips of his fingers. He wound himself around Tom in a hug and sighed, then made a pleased noise when Tom hugged him back.

They were quiet for long moments and Bill ran his hands up and down Tom's back, easing the tension that had coiled his muscles tight during their short argument. The silence was electric, the charge between their bodies not sexual for a change. Tom inhaled, nosing the skin below Bill's ear and placing a small kiss there. He was drinking and being a dick and on his way back to a bad path, and Bill deserved to know why.

"I'm scared," Tom admitted at last, pushing his face against Bill's neck. "I'm so scared about what's going to happen to us when that test comes back."

Bill nodded, hugging him tighter. "It shouldn't matter," he replied, muffled but fierce.

"It does matter," Tom returned. "If we are? You'd be my only remaining flesh and blood."

"You're my lover," Bill said, gasping a little as Tom's arms crushed around him, trying to strain them closer even though there wasn't a micron of space between their bodies, but for their clothes. "I need you, Tom. I can't let you go now."

"But if we're..." Tom couldn't even finish the sentence.

"No one has to know," Bill whispered. "You've already told your manager that we look similar, right? Anyone who says anything, we can play it off as coincidental."

Tom shook his head wordlessly. He couldn't control how he'd feel when he opened that envelope, and learned the truth at last. Despite everything Bill wanted, despite what they needed, he was terrified that if he received that kind of confirmation they were twins, he'd drive Bill away from him for good. And yet, he yearned for the place that Bill had reached, knowing they were better together than they ever were apart, and what they were was lovers, not brothers.

Nothing else mattered.

"Take me to bed," Tom murmured into Bill's neck.

"Hmm?" Bill murmured, lifting Tom's face up out of the crook of his neck to bring them eye to eye.

"I want to be with you," Tom said. "I need to. I mean...did you want more food first, though?"

Bill broke out into a wide, marvelous smile. "Hell with the food, we can get more of that later." He reached down and around and groped Tom's ass through his baggy jeans. "Let's go home."

The cab couldn't move fast enough to suit either of them on the trip home. Tom couldn't stop touching Bill; he stroked a thumb over his knuckles, pressed a reverent hand to his jaw, and feathered his fingers through Bill's dark, red and blond-streaked hair. Bill crowded so close he was almost in Tom's lap and their faces swung near, but neither of them took the invitation of parted lips. For Tom, he knew if he started kissing Bill he'd end up doing more than crawling into his lap.

They could gaze at each other, though, and Tom tried to look his fill, running his eyes up and down Bill wherever he couldn't touch. He knew what he wanted but he didn't know how to ask.

Hand in hand, they stumbled back into Tom's building and navigated the doorman, the narrow carpeted hall that led to the elevator, and once the metal doors closed, Bill was on him.

"Want you," Bill husked, kissing at his face, his mouth, as he pressed Tom back against the elevator. His arms went around Tom's waist and he held him tightly, hands skimming up Tom's shirt.

"Me too, god," Tom groaned, hooking a leg around Bill to try to get him closer.

Bill gasped and pushed their hips together. He offered up his lips and tongue and Tom opened his mouth, inviting him in as he wrapped his arms around Bill. Their mouths smacked together, teeth clicking with the force of their kiss, bruise-hard and fervent. Bill's tongue writhed in his mouth, all but wrapping around Tom's as he rubbed their bodies close, then closer.

At last Bill pulled off as they both breathed hard. "I want to make love to you," he panted. "Let me? Please?"

Tom began to nod before the meaning of the question had fully absorbed, responding to the urgency in his lover's voice. When it sank in - what Bill was asking - he nodded slower, and bit his lip. A brief recollection flitted through his head, of Bill holding up a handful of sharp nails and asking Tom to prep him back there.

"What about your nails?" Tom asked, not searching for an excuse, exactly, but worried about the prospect of letting Bill go where no one had been before. He'd never so much as shoved a finger up his own butt.

Bill leaned against his shoulder, smiling, bringing up a hand to display the black nails. The white tips were gone, and all of his nails were short.

"Well, then," Tom said, arching a brow, and Bill grinned wider at him, not looking remotely abashed. "When did that happen?"

"Sometime within the last twenty-four hours, and that's all I'm saying," Bill said demurely, and reached down again to grip Tom's ass-cheek.

Tom closed his eyes and waited until Bill's breath fanned out over his cheek and mouth, and lips moved over his. They moved together again, and Tom drew Bill's tongue into his mouth, massaging against Bill's and circling the head of the metallic stud.

"Can I?" Bill mumbled against his mouth, when the elevator dinged and they began to disentangle with reluctant hands.

"Fuck...yeah," Tom said, breathing harder. "But if it doesn't feel right, or..."

"I'll stop," Bill assured him, draping an arm around him. "You know I'd stop."

Tom nodded, biting his damp lip. Bill was the only one he could trust that much.

Tumbling right into bed a few steps after breezing through the door wasn't possible, of course, with an enthusiastic Hoggle greeting them with happy barks and doggy kisses. Bill didn't swear, didn't seem the least bit begrudging as Tom went for Hoggle's leash. Bill petted Hoggle's head and ears as the dog nosed at his thigh and crotch, diverted him with pats to the flanks, and bent to lavish kisses to his head.

"Good boy, what a sweet boy," Bill praised, down on his knees and giving Hoggle his complete attention.

"We've got to walk him," Tom told him, clipping the leash to Hoggle's collar.

Bill looked up at him with a sweet, patient smile. "Of course we do."

Together they made the laps of the nearby park, and Tom ran around with Hoggle enough to get him excited, burn off energy, but hopefully not the level that would whip him into a frenzy. Their return walk was more leisurely, and when Bill reached out for him, their joined hands swung between them.

Tom got Hoggle settled in the kitchen with a bowl of kibble when they returned to the penthouse, then sought out Bill, finding him in the bedroom stripping and setting his clothes aside. He was naked to the waist, jewelry gone, barefoot already and wearing only his jeans.

"You want to shower?" Bill asked him, stepping toward Tom and skimming a hand up under his shirt, finding Tom's abdomen muscles sheened with sweat.

Tom nodded and ducked his head, trying not to act stupid and shy.

"Hey," Bill murmured, coming closer and taking Tom's face in his hands. Instead of saying anything else, he leaned in and kissed him, pressing his closed lips against Tom's, fitting them together like a puzzle. Their lips fit perfectly. Bill completed him, Tom knew. The way no one had, or probably ever would; the way Tom had been certain was impossible for someone like him.

When they broke the kiss at last Bill regarded him through hooded eyes and gave him a slow smile. "Shower," he invited.

"You're not coming with?" Tom wanted to know.

"Nope. Take your time, I want you to get relaxed," Bill told him, still smiling. "But don't leave me alone too long, I don't want to get started without you."

Tom nodded and made himself let go of Bill's belt loops, absently wondering when he'd latched on. "Be right back." He shed his clothes as he went, gathering them into the crook of one arm and tipping everything into the hamper on his way over. He glanced over his shoulder before he cleared the door and caught his breath, pausing a moment to watch Bill slip his jeans down off his narrow hips and legs. Bill was so gorgeous, his body cast in gold from the low lights of the hall and across the room, his bare planes and angles a symmetry of perfection.

The shower lured Tom in at last and he cranked up the heat. Dreadless, he no longer had to avoid getting his hair wet, but he did so anyhow, not wanting to drip water over the sheets when he and Bill... Biting his lip, Tom soaped himself thoroughly and concentrated on the heat that was refilling his belly with a slow burn. He was definitely aroused, and fisted his cock to give it a few strokes as he rinsed off.

Nervous, too, in a way unfamiliar to him. It was another kind of first time, and it had been a very, very long time since that.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Tom returned to the bedroom and experienced a flicker of terror that Bill would have done something ridiculous like light up the bedroom with candles, or something. That led Tom onto a brief tangent as to whether there were any candles in the house and he hadn't reached a conclusion by the time his brain caught up with his body.

When he reached the threshold, the sight of Bill sprawled over the turned down bed made Tom catch his breath all over again. Yet again he wondered how lucky - how cursed - he was to have Bill, here, in his bed. Before he could get too maudlin or scared, Bill's lips turned up in an incredible smile and he patted the expanse of sheet beside him.

"Come here," Bill invited.

Tom approached. Before he could ask how they were going to do this, Bill reached out and grasped the towel, giving it a tug and rendering Tom naked.

"You don't need that," Bill murmured. "Come here and kiss me, Tom."

That, Tom could do. He grinned and climbed into bed beside Bill, murmuring appreciatively as Bill twined against him at once, rubbing a leg over Tom's calf, pressing their bellies and chests together and stroking his hand up Tom's arm and over his shoulder. He sealed their mouths together and pressed his tongue in, seeking. Tom gave his back in exchange, licking past Bill's teeth and murmuring softly, opening wider as the kiss gained speed.

With quiet, urgent noises Bill kissed and licked at Tom's lips, his tongue, even his teeth. His hand cupped one of Tom's ass-cheeks as Tom played with Bill's nipple ring. He thumbed the little silver ring and Bill kneaded his ass and they both moaned, bellies bumping as they crowded closer.

"Want you," Tom said when Bill let him up for air. Bill's eyes appraised him hotly, all dark with pupil, and he bent to take Tom's bottom lip in both of his, sucking it, dabbling a tiny pattern over it with the tip of his tongue. Tom shuddered and groped down their bodies, seeking the cock wedged against his and between their stomachs.

When Bill released Tom's lip with a subtle smack, he smiled over at Tom and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Wanna suck you," he said, his voice dragged out hoarse with lust.

Tom could manage no other answer than a nod. "How do you want..." he began, not surprised to hear his own voice rasp dry and hungry.

Bill stretched forth for another kiss, lips dwelling on Tom's. As he leaned back, he pushed the center of Tom's chest, giving him a taste of Bill's strength as he rolled Tom onto his back in one movement. "Lie back," Bill urged him, and nibbled another kiss onto Tom's bottom lip again.

Nodding, Tom stretched back and found a pillow, tucking it beneath his head. He smiled lazily as Bill chained a path of kisses from chin on down the column of his throat and to his sternum.

Bill lavished open-mouthed kisses down his front, wet lips and the hint of tongue mapping the way down his skin. He pulled and pinched at Tom's nipples briefly, toying with them between thumbs and forefingers in passing, then smoothed his palms over Tom's ribs and stomach and settled on Tom's hips as his mouth fluttered over the crease between Tom's groin and belly.

"Mmm," Tom rumbled, pushing his hips up, already anticipating the heat of Bill's mouth on him, the skillful flick of that tongue and delicious drag of the tongue stud under and around the head of his cock.

Bill aimed a grin up the length of Tom's body, settling his weight between Tom's thighs, arms slung over thighs and hands draped on hips. He placed soft, wet kisses on Tom's belly right beside his cock and grinned at him again.

"Do it," Tom urged, trying to push his hips up, but Bill's wiry strength held him down.

Bill raised a brow, parting his lips and flashing his tongue at Tom. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe over Tom's lower stomach, then breathed along the damp trail he'd left, making Tom's hair raise.

"Ahh," Tom groaned, his cock tight and aching, his whole body tingling with anticipation.

"You want my mouth?" Bill murmured.

The words made Tom's dick jerk; he was already picturing his cock in Bill's mouth, and he was so hard he wanted any touch at all. He nodded wordlessly, looking down his body at Bill.

With a soft noise in his throat, Bill took hold of Tom's hardness at last, rubbing it against his cheek.

Tom groaned and reached to push the head into Bill's mouth. Bill slapped at his hand and set it firmly to the sheets.

"Be good," Bill said, "or I won't..." He turned his head and opened his mouth, the movement bringing the head into range of the lightest brush of lips against the slick, purple-red skin at the tip of Tom's dick.

Tom nodded and tried not to thrash. He gripped at the cover sheet and rubbed a foot against Bill's leg to urge him on.

Bill gave him a mysterious curl of a smile and stroked his hand along Tom's cock, rubbing it against his cheek again with a quick movement, nuzzling at it, then getting up to hover over Tom's groin. He rolled the foreskin down with thumb and forefinger before breathing over the tip of Tom's dick once, twice.

"Ahhh," Tom moaned. He was about to beg Bill to stop teasing him when firm lips closed over the tip of his cock and went down in a long, wet slide that seemed to take the entirety of Tom's cock down Bill's throat all at once. He held it all in, puffs of breath from his nose stirring over Tom as one hand grasped at the base, and pulsed his throat around Tom, beginning to hum.

Tom made strangling noises, remembering at the last minute not to thrust up because choking his partner would be a swift end to their lovemaking not to mention impolite, and reached out to slip his hands into Bill's hair. He bit his lip and made a series of increasingly undignified noises as Bill began to work his mouth back and forth, tongue playing against the underside of Tom's cock. He lifted up enough to watch as Bill moved over his cock, eyes closed, cheeks hollowed, his glistening lips stretched to take Tom's length, his girth. It was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen, more intimate than watching Bill's sweet little hole stretch around his cock as he pushed inside him, because the eye contact between them as Bill opened his dark eyes to connect their gazes was another kind of jolt.

Bill let the cock slip mostly out of his mouth, kissing and tonguing at the head, and gave Tom a small grin. He cradled Tom's balls in one hand and went down on him again, slurping around the tip of Tom's dick before forming a tight seal, undulating his cock back and forth in his mouth. His hand played down, a finger trailing lower and lower, stroking past the perineum into the crack of Tom's ass.

Tom let his voice show his appreciation, crying out loud as he gathered handfuls of Bill's hair to either side of that face, those beautiful cheekbones, the swollen mouth that was stretched around him sucking Tom's dick. Bill's tongue thrilled over the underside of his length and he kept going back and forth, making anxious little noises of enjoyment that made it so, so much hotter.

There wasn't an uncapping noise or even a squelch; Bill must have arranged everything beforehand to be ready nearby. A slick finger pressed into him as Bill bobbed up and down on his cock, stretching his spit-slicked lips wide.

Tom's eyes went wide and he stared down at Bill, half-lidded brown eyes meeting his huge ones, as Bill sucked on his cock and moved a finger inside him. After a moment, Bill pulled off Tom's dick and kissed the tip. "Okay?" he said hoarsely.

"Yeah," Tom said, wiggling a bit. He'd thought it would feel weird, maybe even hurt, but it was just...there.

Bill nodded, beamed at him in a way that made Tom feel he'd done something wonderful, and went down on him again.

"Unnnh....god!" Tom shouted as his dick went down Bill's throat. 

Bill was taking him in a long, plush glide that seemed to have no end. As he did, Tom realized that something was pressing into him, maybe more than before, and again, it didn't feel awful. Bill was stroking around inside him for something.

"Two fingers?" Tom wondered aloud, and Bill nodded around his mouthful of Tom.

It wasn't bad, was all Tom could think, then Bill's fingers nudged inside of him and his head fell back and he couldn't help it; he was arching up off the bed with a throttled cry.

"Nice," Bill murmured, curving his fingers again, pressing inside Tom.

Tom was trying to rediscover how to breathe. He bent a leg up, angling to get more of himself onto Bill before he realized. "What...was that my..."

"Mm-hmm," Bill responded, kissing his dick. "You want more, Tomi?"

"Fuck, I don't know if I can handle more," Tom rasped.

"Can't?" Bill asked, rounding his eyes at Tom over his groin.

"It's...intense," Tom managed. He eased his thighs, drawing both legs up, and found himself pushing onto Bill's fingers. Tom gasped as the motion slipped Bill's fingers deeper into him.

Bill grasped Tom's dick again and rubbed it against his cheek, licking at the head again. "What do you want, Tomi?"

"Keep going," Tom gasped out, still struggling to cope with all of the sensations Bill was giving him. It was nothing like he'd imagined – he'd thought it would hurt, at best. This was more than surpassing his expectations. He wanted _more_.

"Mm," Bill said, drawing the head of Tom's dick between his lips again, plying foreskin down with his tongue as he moved his fingers into Tom's ass again and again.

"Ahh...ahh, Bill!"

The slurping noises around his dick were driving Tom crazy – almost as much as the fingers going in and out of him, brushing and crooking up against that spot that made him arch and gasp out, his cock spurting with a warning burst of pre-come. Bill wrapped his fingers tightly at the base, shifting his grip to prevent Tom from spilling his load.

"Three fingers, now," Bill told him, moving them lazily in and out.

"Fuck," Tom managed, dropping his head back onto the pillow. It really didn't hurt, it mostly felt...full. Good, even.

Bill hunched over him and pressed his mouth to Tom's hipbone. "Can I?"

"Yes...nnh, yes," Tom grunted, rotating his hips again. He hadn't quite realized that it was more full than before, concentrating on the amazing sensations Bill was coaxing from his dick. "Love you...want you..." He was ready for this final barrier to fall, perhaps for the only time.

Bill got his legs under him and turned his head, kissing Tom's knee. He was flushed and gave Tom a dazzling smile. "You're so good, this is going to be so good," he murmured. He knelt between Tom's legs and ran a glistening hand over his own cock once, twice, stroking lube over himself. "Do you want to get on your stomach?

Tom thought about it; shook his head. "I want to see your face," he said quietly.

Bill grinned. "Well, you could always start, we see how it feels, then turn around?"

Tom scrunched his face up. "I want you," he said honestly. "Just...go slow?"

Bill's lovely face shifted from that bright smile to seriousness. "Mmn," he said with a nod, biting his lip. "Lift your legs for me, Tomi?"

Shifting and hiking his legs wasn't nearly so easy or graceful as Bill made it look. Tom managed, grabbing his thighs and spreading himself as he caught Bill's gaze again. He was open, incredibly exposed, but he wasn't scared. Bill had been looking down, and as their eyes connected, Bill's tongue flicked over his lip. Realizing where Bill had been looking made a sudden heat spread through Tom's face, a flush unlike any that he could recall.

"Gonna come inside you, "Bill whispered, pressing against Tom down there.

"Unnnh," Tom responded incoherently, trying to lift his hips. He reached for Bill with a hand and Bill took it, pressing his mouth to Tom's palm.

Bill settled into place above him. Something slick and hard and amazingly hot nudged behind Tom's balls.

"C'mere," Bill told him, lacing the fingers of his right hand through Tom's left and moving over him. As he did, his cock pressed against Tom's hole and they both groaned as the head worked past the first of Tom's resistance and popped inside.

"Fuck," Tom gritted. "That's bigger than your fingers."

"You...nnng...think?" Bill grunted, propping himself above Tom unmoving.

"Ah...ahh," Tom panted, gripping at Bill's left arm. "Move, I can't stand it if you only stay there like that."

"Don't want to hurt you," Bill murmured, but he was already shifting, pressing his cock deeper into Tom.

Tom's mouth elongated as Bill worked his cock in to the hilt in a slow, incremental glide. After the first burn of being stretched open, it only felt weird and somehow amazing. He was taking Bill. Bill was _inside_ him. He panted harder, overwhelmed as Bill moved above and into him, lining them up until their mouths brushed.

"Can I..." Bill gasped.

The groan was ripped from deep within Tom. "Move!" He reached up with his free hand and cupped Bill's nape, crushing their mouths together. Bill lurched over him and thrust, bringing their bodies together again and again with dull, satisfying smacks. They were fucking; Tom was being fucked.

Somewhere inside him, Tom had thought it wasn't possible to do this; to be a manly man and take it up the ass. As he moaned and lifted his hips to Bill, kissing up against his face and jaw as it swayed in and out of range, he couldn't help but think that it was no less masculine than anything else they'd done. His cock was rubbing up against Bill's stomach and Bill was _in_ him, thrusting into him with rhythmic hip-rolls. He was being fucked by a man; there was nothing unmanly about what they did together.

"Ah, ahh, yes," Tom groaned, still amazed that it was so good. "More."

Bill panted into his mouth, plastered a sloppy kiss to his lips, and sat back on his heels, changing the angle of his thrust.

"Oh...ohhh!" the sound left Tom in a drawn-out utterance and he jolted up, clinging onto Bill's hand and locking eyes with him again.

"Tomi," Bill moaned, driving into him in deep, long thrusts, plunging his cock in a direct line for Tom's prostate.

"Oh, god," Tom responded, bracing his legs against the bed and shoving back onto Bill's dick, trying to get as much as fast as possible. They had to let go as Bill grabbed at Tom's thighs, pumping into him from that incredible new angle.

Bill tossed his head back, beautiful even covered with sweat, moving fast and surely over him. He sped up and moaned so sweetly Tom could only cry out again, trying to sit up to get closer to Bill. He reached out and Bill grabbed his hand again and kissed it, rocking against him.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna come," Bill warned him, speeding up.

Tom nodded frantically, licking his lip and trying to push himself down on Bill's dick, then remembering what Bill had done to him so many times. He clenched, tightening down on the dick in his ass. "Ahh..." That intensified the slide of Bill's dick inside him, so he did it again.

Bill yelled, thrashing against him, his dark hair going everywhere. He held himself over Tom and kept moving in and out, grabbing at Tom's legs, folding them more or less against his chest.

"Are you--" Tom began, then he moaned as he felt it. There was a burst of warmth inside him, a frisson of radiant wetness unfurling. Bill was coming inside him.

Bill pulled out, pressing against him and Tom squirmed as the head of Bill's cock swiped around his exposed hole, smearing his come down there. Before Tom could say anything or even cry out, Bill was on him, sucking Tom's dick down between his plush lips.

Tom gave a throttled shout, moving with a helpless disregard for choking or Bill's comfort. One hand stroking at Tom's hip, Bill reared back, letting the cock slip mostly out of his mouth and lolling his tongue around the head. He started to suck it back in, pressing two fingers back down into Tom, who was still open, and crooked them, searching.

"Bill!" Tom cried, spilling hard into Bill's beautiful mouth.

"Mm, mmm," Bill responded, closing his lips around the head and lapping him up.

Tom lay there panting, his breathing slowing. He got an arm under his head as Bill placed a last kiss beside his spent dick. Replete, smiling, Tom opened an arm as Bill crawled up beside him.

"Good?" Bill whispered, rubbing his mouth beside Tom's.

"I don't even...yeah," Tom replied, and turned his head, moving in for a kiss.

Bill dissolved into a smile as their lips met. Tom grinned, gathered him up into his arms, and kissed him soundly, taking back his own taste and searching below it for Bill's.

"Thank you," Bill whispered, hooking his leg over Tom's and rubbing the back of Tom's calf with his heel.

There was only one answer for that. Tom slanted another kiss to Bill's mouth and whispered against the corner, "Love you."

When Bill nestled against him, Tom couldn't close his eyes. He stroked over Bill's shoulder and wished that tomorrow would never come.


	19. Chapter 19

The night was endless. The undertow of murky dreams netted Tom again and again, pulling him to places lightless and cold. He dreamed that Bill was gone; he saw the stricken look in Bill's eyes when he opened his mouth to force out the words "I don't want to be with you anymore." He knew a life where he'd possessed the warmth of Bill, and driven him away.

"Why?" Bill's mouth shaped the single word. He reached for Tom with both hands.

"For your own good," Tom could only say, as he turned to leave and shut away the possibility of all they'd had.

 _For whose good? What good is there, in this?_ Gasping, Tom burst from sleep and tossed in the sheets, hands searching as his chest went tight and his eyes stung. Each time, Bill murmured something soothing and drew Tom down beside him, stroking his face and shoulders, petting along his back. Hoggle whined and turned around at their feet, settling as Bill's touch soothed Tom into uneasy sleep again.

"Let it go," Bill said, breathing the words against his ear.

Tom buried his face in Bill's neck and slept, and repeated the restless cycle.

Every time the dream pulled him under, it was the same. He opened his mouth, he became the asshole, he drove Bill away. "Why?" Bill kept asking him, his eyes an open wound, and Tom could only say, "I don't want to hurt you."

_"You're hurting me right now..."_

Tom broke through the veil of that choking unhappy dream again and curled his empty hands around the sheets. Bill stirred beside him.

"Where are we?" Tom murmured, confused between the dream and his yesterdays, smelling the warmth of Bill's lotion-infused skin. It recalled the darkness of a gently rocking cabin and the long night after the first revelation.

"At sea again," Bill mumbled back, mostly asleep as he pulled Tom back into his arms.

"Mm," Tom responded, lifting his head to check the nightstand clock over Bill's shoulder. It was much too early to get up.

He laid there and listened to Bill breathe, counting the beats in the pulse trapped below his fingertips. He wanted to roll Bill over, to wake him up and tell him he loved him. He rehearsed in his head all the ways that it would go: an apology; hardening his heart and telling Bill they were through, because they had to be; doing as Bill suggested and continuing regardless, even if the test proved positive. _When the test proves positive_ a little voice insinuated, and Tom tried to deny it, but the pile-up of "coincidences" was too much for him to ignore.

The room around Tom shifted from darkness to shades of grey. He lay on his side and watched Bill's face surface into clear definition. Tom brushed strands of black hair away from Bill's cheek and watched his nose twitch.

He was exhausted clear down to the core of his body in the way that meant the little sleep he'd gotten hadn't been enough. He didn't want to try to lay his head down again, though. Whatever moments left that he had with Bill, he wanted them all.

As the first fingers of rosy-gold light crept through the blinds and striped over the foot of the bed, Hoggle began to stir. He swung his head toward Tom, bright eyes inquisitive. Tom sighed through his nose and pressed a kiss to Bill's sleeping face, beginning to disentangle himself with the slowness of extreme reluctance. There was another reason to be slow and careful, of course; he wasn't sure exactly how much soreness he'd be subject to. There was an ache, but nothing to prevent him from normal movement. It was more like a reminder; he'd enjoyed it, and that made him flush.

Bill's eyes popped open when Tom reached the side of the bed. "Where you goin'?" he slurred.

"Dog-walking," Tom answered. "Be right back - you stay here, okay?"

Bill's eyes had already slid shut by the time Tom reached the foot of the bed.

Donning track pants, worn sneakers, and an oversized sweater, Tom took Hoggle for a run to the park. He stretched as he went; he was a little sore, but nothing too bad; in fact, he felt amazingly good all things considered. Dawn was bursting over the edges of the buildings, inexorable and uncontained. Tom dug a pair of sunglasses out of his sweater pocket to combat the merciless morning light and let Hoggle control their pace by leaps and bounds. Hoggle had to sniff every tree at least once, combat an impending squirrel invasion, say hello to another early-walking dog, and ended up dragging Tom around the park three times before Tom drew a rein on his wandering thoughts and set them on the homeward route once again.

In Tom's head, everything devolved to that single moment. He imagined himself opening the envelope. He shuddered over all of the hurtful things that he might say, the harsh morally-fueled denunciations that would back him up. He thought of the sparkle and glint of the cruise ship's ballroom mirror ball off Bill's cheek as he sung in Tom's ear, _"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,"_ and recognized his best intentions as good for nothing, if everything between them was rendered null and void by the opening of a single envelope.

Tom sprinted on the route back home, Hoggle dashing eagerly beside him with ears flapping. A superstitious part of him was convinced that Bill would be gone, melted away like morning fog in the face of the sun, by the time he got back to his penthouse. Despite that fear, he lingered over Hoggle in the entryway, wiping his dog's dew-soaked paws dry and hunting up a treat for him in the kitchen for doing his business.

After shucking his shoes off in the hallway, Tom returned to the bedroom, swapping his sweater for a tank top. He climbed onto the edge of the bed and watched with a rapt smile as the sheets unfurled beside him enough to reveal Bill, peeking up at him with sleep-heavy eyes.

"You're all dressed," Bill murmured, reaching up to stroke Tom's face. He grasped a handful of Tom's braids to tug him down. "That's inconvenient."

"I was about to go shower," Tom murmured, running his fingers back and forth over the warm, smooth flesh of Bill's chest. He tweaked the silver ring in passing and Bill arched against him, eyes sharpening, fixed on Tom.

Bill licked his lip and shifted over, mute invitation for Tom to join him. Even without the draw of Bill's hand locked around his neck, Tom was already crawling in beside him, relieved to take in all of the scents that meant Bill to him. Right now it was mostly lotion and hair product and stale sex, overlaying the vague, sweet smell that was Bill himself.

"Shower sounds good," Bill whispered, his lips turning up as he closed his eyes again.

"Do you want to go out for breakfast?" Tom wanted to know.

"I want to stay right here with you," Bill said, snuggling down determinedly in the sheets beside him. He hooked his arm over Tom's waist and pressed his lips to the nearest part of Tom he could stretch to reach.

"That's my nose," Tom said, bumping his against Bill's.

"I'm pretty sure it's mine," Bill disagreed, kissing it again.

"All right, well, unless you're going to eat _me,_ there's nothing to eat here," Tom said. He dipped his head to kiss Bill's mole, the beauty mark beside his mouth. Bill's lips curved against Tom's upper lip and nose.

"Order something delivered," Bill told him, settling his hand on Tom's hip. "And go shower, I want to have sex."

"Yes, your highness," Tom teased, kissing the corner of Bill's mouth now. When Bill pursed his lips, he sat up, ignoring his lover's discontented pout as he took himself out of range. "Any other royal commands?"

"Carry me to the shower," Bill ordered, holding up his arms. "I probably smell, too; I should bathe."

Tom climbed out of bed, bent and scooped Bill up, ignoring his squawks over being displaced. "Hold still, you're bony," was his only comment as Bill flailed out with his legs and clutched his arms around Tom's neck.

"You're...but...I didn't mean it, Tom!" Bill sputtered.

"Then you shouldn't have said it!" Tom declared with a mischievous grin.

He set Bill down as they reached hard tile, scared to drop him. Bill clung to his neck anyhow, assisting Tom in the most unhelpful way possible to remove his clothes - his 'assistance' involving mainly the stroking of exposed flesh as Tom pulled his shirt and sweats off. They got into Tom's roomy glass-walled shower together and the bathing involved a lot more making out and rubbing off than it did actual cleansing. After they'd both come, panting into one another's mouths and each grasping the other's cock, Bill became a lot more businesslike about the application of soap and shower gel and the hair products he'd unpacked from a suitcase. He kissed Tom and patted his cheek before leaving the shower first.

Tom spent a few more moments under the shower head, cranking up the heat and spray until steam billowed around him. Sex with Bill the night before had been fantastic, and he was less sore than he thought he'd be. Bill had been amazingly considerate, too, getting up after they basked for a moment together and bringing back a warm washcloth, cleaning their release before it could spoil the mood.

As he stepped out of the shower, toweling his face off, he inquired of Bill, "Is it always like that? I mean, like last night?"

Bill straightened from where he was bent over the sink applying eye makeup. He was wearing a towel, indicating that the makeup had been his first priority, even before grabbing a pair of boxers. "What, anal?" he guessed.

Tom nodded, wrapping his towel around his waist and scuffing his feet over the bathroom rug beside the shower to dry them. "It was intense, and it didn't...I mean, I was expecting it to hurt a lot more." He reached up to tug at a braid.

"It does if you're doing it wrong," Bill said, making a scoffing noise. He shook his head. "No, that's not quite true. Not all guys like it - for some of them it really would hurt no matter what. And some guys don't get a kick out of having their prostate stimulated - it's not a magic button. Depending on the guy, it might do nothing, it might actually turn them off, or like you - and me - it feels really damned good. Makes it worth it."

"Worth what?" Tom asked, confused.

"The pain, if there is any," Bill replied. He turned around and leaned back against the counter, ducking his head to give Tom a coy look. "You must've been really relaxed...and really trusted me."

Tom grinned back at him. "Well, I guess I'm a little sore _now_ , but everything that you did felt good," he assured him. He gestured past Bill to the bathroom counter. "You in a rush to get ready, or something? I mean, I can order breakfast delivered." It wouldn't be the first time he'd called one of their PAs for such duty, after all.

Bill turned back around and fussed with a case of makeup, but not before Tom caught the flustered look that flitted over his face. "You don't..." he started, then stopped. He shook his head and picked up a small black tube, passing it from one hand to the other.

"I don't what?" Tom prompted, coming up behind Bill and settling his hands to slim bare shoulders. Bill was dotted everywhere with tiny moles, some so small and light that they resembled freckles. Tom bent to lick a connecting line between a few of them.

"You don't like it when I go around without makeup," Bill said, so quietly that Tom couldn't be sure he'd heard properly. "So I try to make sure you don't see me without it."

Tom began to protest, "That's not true--" but Bill's words had started the gears churning, making him think back to every little moment, every gesture, that might have given Bill that impression. _I don't want to look like you._ The times they looked most alike had always been when Bill's face was makeup-free. "No. No, Bill, I never meant it that way."

"Didn't you?" Bill said, tilting his head, doubt scrawled loud and clear.

Tom shook his head at once. "You're beautiful no matter what," he said, dropping a kiss to Bill's shoulder.

"Even if I look like you?" Bill cast back at him, eyes round and forlorn.

"Yes," Tom assured him, slipping his arms around Bill's waist and pulling their bodies together. He shared the thought he'd had the day before. "We wouldn't be who we are if we didn't look alike, right?"

"Right," Bill confirmed. His eyes fixed on Tom's in the mirror as Tom rested his chin on Bill's shoulder. "You love me no matter what, Tom?"

"Yes," Tom replied, throat closing and rendering his response to a whisper. Of course he did. He'd found Bill, and he loved him, but he couldn't promise he'd never let him go.

Taking that for the reassurance he'd been seeking, Bill nodded and patted one of Tom's hands, turning his head to brush a kiss over Tom's face with still-unglossed lips. "Let's get fed, and figure out what we're going to do with our day, all right?"

Tom nodded. They shared one more kiss, hot and slow with Bill's tongue pushing between his lips to taste him before Tom disentangled and threw some clothes on and hunted down his cell phone. He thought he knew Bill's breakfast tastes pretty well, but went a little crazy with the breakfast menu anyhow as he reeled off a substantial order to one of his band's PAs.

The one thing Tom did have on hand was coffee, and he set some up to brew so they would have that, at least, as they waited. Bill found him in the wide-open spaces of the kitchen, leaning back against a marble-topped counter with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Hmm, what's that look?" Bill wanted to know, coming up to him and nuzzling his way right into Tom's arms. He had thrown on a blue turtleneck of fabric that was amazingly fine beneath Tom's hands, and a pair of worn ragged jeans.

"Thinking about screwing against the countertops," Tom answered without a trace of shame. If he weren't self-conscious about Hoggle watching from his kitchen pillow in the corner, he'd probably initiate.

Bill planted a kiss on his chin, then higher on his face - on Tom's mole, he realized. Maybe they both had a bit of a mole fetish, and wasn't that a good thing? "Screwing, or getting screwed?"

Heat spread through Tom's face. "Uhh, either, I guess," he replied after a moment.

"What was your first thought?" Bill wanted to know.

"Well, screwing you," Tom replied, hooking his fingers through Bill's belt-loops. "But after last night, I think I'm a little, uhh, more flexible than I thought."

"Mm, I like that," Bill said forthrightly, winding his fingers under Tom's shirt and scratching lightly over his abs.

"I like you," Tom shot back. He gave Bill a lopsided grin. "There's coffee."

"Oh, so there is!" Bill said, unwinding himself from Tom in an instant and abandoning him for the pitcher of brew as the percolator gurgled its last. "Mmm, coffee."

"I wish you wouldn't say that as eagerly as 'mmm, sex,' or 'mmm, Tom,'" Tom teased him.

"Why not?" Bill countered. "I'm pretty sure I'm addicted to all of them."

Breakfast arrived shortly after they'd both finished their first cups, Bill making do with a powdered creamer that had been in one of Tom's kitchen drawers since time immemorial. Tom had ordered half and half along with the meal, knowing Bill would need it to actually enjoy his coffee. They spread out their feast in the kitchen nook that Tom had never before used for its original purpose of eating meals, always before having eaten out, on the run, or in front of his TV or laptop. They ate their fill of hash browns, Bill stole half of Tom's sausages, and they both had plenty of runny eggs over toast. The waffles drenched in melting whipped cream and raspberry syrup were the crowning glory of the meal, though.

"You ordered way too much food," Bill declared, pushing away from the table and patting his belly.

"We'll have to ease off slowly after those cruise buffets," Tom said. He scraped the last of his plate clean and stuffed the final, huge bite of waffle into his mouth.

"Wasn't a complaint, just an observation," Bill told him. He stretched and turned away from the table. "I hate to say it, but I need to haul out my laptop and do some work."

"Ugh," Tom said in response to that dirty word.

"Is there some place I can set it up?" Bill continued, putting his head to one side and batting his lashes.

As though Tom would deny him. "Yeah, I've got a computer room," he replied. "So, you want to stay here this morning." He licked his bottom lip and fidgeted with his fork until it dropped right out of his hand.

"I think we'd better, don't you?" Bill said quietly, folding his hands over the tabletop. "At least until we get that mail delivered."

"Yeah," Tom said, nodding heavily. "Yeah..." He winced and looked out the window at the city skyline.

"Tom," Bill said, after a long moment of silence stretched thin between them. They reclined in their seats, neither looking at the other. "The test...it doesn't change anything for me."

Drawing a sharp breath in, Tom began to nod again. This was a conversation he'd been hoping to avoid. "I know."

"What about you?" Bill asked, flicking his gaze from Tom to the detritus of their breakfast that littered the table, and back again.

"I...I don't..." Tom began painfully, his heart lurching against his ribs. He wasn't getting enough air; he was reminded of the trapped, murky undertow of his dreams. He wanted to give Bill all the right answers. He wanted to promise that it didn't matter to him, either. All the reasons for why it had been so important to know were fading from his grasp. "I can't say."

"Can't say, or don't know?" Bill prodded cynically.

Tom shook his head, biting down on his lip again. The words from his dream resurfaced. _I don't want to hurt you._ But who would he be hurting, and how? "I'll show you to the computer room, okay?"

Bill opened his mouth as to object and pursue the argument. His dark eyes flared, mouth thinning and brows lowering, then he pushed up from the table and walked away a few paces. Hoggle roused from where he had been lying on the tile not far from them and trotted over to Bill hopefully, whuffling at his fingers. "I guess we'll both find out soon enough, won't we?" Bill said, his words tight and bitter.

Tom got up from the table, but Bill remained turned away from him, arms folded over his front.

"Bill," Tom said, stretching his hand out. He dropped it without trying to place it on Bill's shoulder. Hoggle stared between Bill and Tom and wagged his tail, eyes large and expectant. "I do love you."

"But not enough," Bill said. He started to walk away.

Tom tagged after him, lengthening his strides to catch up so that they were side by side. "Maybe too much," he insisted.

Bill made a scoffing noise in his throat. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

Tom had no reply for that.

He got Bill set up in the eastern-facing computer room and left him alone, relocating to the den area with its 72" LCD high definition television and top-notch entertainment system that he found he hadn't missed, not really. Tom found a pad of paper and pen and became submerged in his own work, going through the dozens of voicemails that he'd been putting off since he'd gotten off the ship. Most of them could be deleted, but it took plenty enough time listening and taking care of each one. After a while the silence started getting to him - Tom never much had to deal with a lack of noise, and its absence unnerved him. He flipped on the stereo.

The sum total of his morning amounted to a few callbacks. The latest from Andreas was another plea asking when he could schedule at least one paparazzi pic, or leak a rumor from a 'usually reliable source.' Annoyed, Tom deleted that without jotting down a note.

He scrolled through his phone registry and stared down at a number he'd saved from one SIM card to the next over the years, never ruthless enough to sever that final semblance of connection. His cursor rested on 'Trumper, Gordon.' After a long, hard stare, Tom sighed and cut the power to his phone. There was no help to be found from that quarter.

When Tom's stomach voiced a surprisingly loud gurgle, he looked for the nearest clock and was amazed to find the morning gone. He drifted through his penthouse, somewhat concerned that Hoggle hadn't come to find him for a midday walk or to curl up at his feet. At last he poked his head through the computer room, figuring that he'd ask Bill about lunch. He scuffled his feet at the threshold, cleared his throat, then stiffened.

"Traitor!" Tom called out, pointing.

Bill's head lifted. "Excuse me?"

Hoggle swiveled his head and gave Tom huge mournful eyes, beginning to wag his tail as Tom entered the room.

"Curled at the feet of another man, I see," Tom said.

Bill's eyes widened. He smirked and got up from his chair, shutting his laptop. "You went gay for me, Tom; why shouldn't Hoggle switch his affiliations, too?"

Tom inhaled. "Because...I feed him?" he tried. "And I was thinking about feeding you. It's past noon."

"Oh," Bill said, glancing over his shoulder at the laptop and a pad of marked-up paper. "I'm not hungry."

A loud gurgling growl from the vicinity of his middle disputed his words. Tom grinned over at him and Bill dissolved into a sheepish smile.

"All right, what do you want to eat?" Tom asked him.

"What delivers?" Bill countered.

Tom opened his mouth to reply, and the anteroom buzzer started up, a faint beeswarm-angry claxon in the distance. He shut his mouth and braced himself as Hoggle pealed past him, paws scrabbling over slippery hardwood flooring.

"The mail?" Bill asked, paling.

"Probably," Tom said, and took a step back. He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm going to answer it."

"Of course," Bill replied faintly, and followed him as he left the room.

When Tom responded to the intercom, the front desk let him know there was a delivery. "Be right down," he told them, and glanced at Bill.

The entryway wall was painted the shade that an interior decorator had once told Tom was 'paper white.' He recalled that now as he looked at Bill, whose pallor matched it.

Bill joined him for the funereally long march to the elevator and the front desk. They were both silent, unable to work up to conversation that would be stuck in the tracks of where they'd already gone before. Somewhere along the way Bill's hand sought his, and Tom grasped it firmly.

"Here you go, Mr. Trümper," the front desk clerk told him, passing over an envelope with a familiar "TT" atop a mailing label scrawled in Tom's handwriting.

Tom eyed it as though it were a poisonous snake rearing up to strike him.

"Should I not have accepted it?" the clerk asked, appearing worried. "I mean, it only has your initials but the rest of the info is correct..."

"No, it's mine, you did the right thing," Tom assured him, weighing the thin cardboard-material mailer in his hands. He thought for a moment he might throw up in their immaculately tiled foyer until he met Bill's eyes. He steeled himself at seeing that worried, ashen expression on Bill's face.

"All right, have a good day, Mr. Trümper."

Tom could only manage a grimace at that, holding onto Bill as they crossed the foyer for the elevator once more. He tucked the envelope into the crook of his free arm and jabbed at the button for the penthouse with unnecessary force. There was no music in the elevator, saccharine jazz or otherwise, and for that Tom was grateful.

As the elevator hummed upward around them, Bill said quietly, "Tom." His slim fingers tightened around Tom's.

Tom looked over at him, cocking his head. Bill was looking straight forward, his face blank. He seemed not to realize he'd even spoken. "You okay?" Tom asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Bill vocalized, head lifting. He looked over at Tom and appeared puzzled by the question, then shook his head. "I'll know in a few minutes, I guess."

Tom tried to smile at him, but it was a weak effort.

Hoggle was waiting for them in the entryway to Tom's penthouse, seated on his spotted haunches with his floppy ears pricked as high as they would go. He made a noise that was a cross between a whine and a doggie groan, circling around them both and pushing a cold, wet nose into their hands.

"Poor Hoggle, you probably want to go out, huh?" Tom said, reaching down to stroke his dog's ears.

"Tom Trümper, you are not taking that dog anywhere until you open the test results!" Bill exclaimed, his head jerking up.

Tom disengaged his hand from Bill's and gathered him into the circle of one arm, continuing to pet Hoggle with his free hand and dropping the envelope in passing. "No, no, I wouldn't do that," he assured him. The thought of drawing it out any longer than necessary made him grimace.

With a last pat to Hoggle and a kiss to Bill's temple, Tom stooped to retrieve the mailer from where it had fallen. "Let's go to the living room," he suggested, thinking of the bright open spaces, the readily available couches if he had to sink into a seated position from a sudden rush of blood to the head.

Bill and Hoggle trailed after him as Tom sought out the living room, looking around for a moment as though expecting to find something; answers, maybe. To one side of the room, there was a fireplace, a real one with a chimney draw and everything, flanked by chairs in a conversational arrangement. To the other side, there was a wraparound patio and a sliding glass door that led onto the terrace and a spectacular view of the city. Tom led Bill to the couch he'd been seated on earlier, the one across from the entertainment center.

Tom held his breath as he took hold of the tab on the side and ripped open the mailer. Bill positioned himself across from him, on the other side of the glass coffee table beside the couch, skinny arms clasped across his narrow chest in a tight hug.

A white oblong fluttered out, headed for the floor, and Tom stooped to snatch it out of the air. He let out a slow breath, lip drawing between his teeth, as he realized it was another envelope, much smaller than the mailer, sealed and white and awfully innocuous for such an impending sense of doom. Tom caught it and held it up, lip still between his teeth, as he looked over at Bill.

"Of course; another envelope," Bill said, twitching his brow up. "I'd certainly hate for this to be over already." His arms cinched tighter around himself. His dark eyes were pleading.

Was Bill pleading wordlessly to get it over with, already? To make the right choice? For the life of him, as Tom bit his lip and held up the white envelope, he didn't know what that was.

"Any last words?" Tom spoke up, trying for a joke and falling horribly short. He weighed the thin paper envelope in his hand. It was too light, too small to have such an impact on him. On them both.

Bill's eyes flicked up to him, a small smile attempted to form, and he looked down. "Just, I love you. No matter what." He stayed where he was on the other side of the coffee table.

Nodding, Tom bit down hard on his lip as he held up the envelope. This was it. His heart was thudding so loud in his chest he was surprised Bill didn't say something about how he could hear it. His comment about last words hadn't been so much a joke as a preface – the answers provided by the test results could be the death of everything they were together. He stared at the envelope, its plain white surface offering no details, and he hated it. He hated what it represented; he hated the fact that this _one thing_ could change everything, that it had the potential to take away something – someone – that had come to mean so much to him. 

Tom began to sweat, sour fear emanating from his pores, and he couldn't meet Bill's eyes. 

Could Tom really do this to him? To them both? He thought back to that first night they'd made love – how good it had been, how they'd held each other after, and the way Bill had shyly confessed that he liked him once he'd thought Tom had been asleep. They had fallen into it so easily, as though they were meant to be.

Tom stared at the envelope for almost a full minute, full of loathing and unsure whether the repugnance was for the results, or for himself – the possibility that he'd become that asshole again, and drive his Bill away. It all came down to this, and the one thing he'd thought he needed to set his mind at ease was tearing everything apart.

"Tom," Bill began. His voice was so quiet, and the pounding in Tom's ears so loud, that Tom barely heard him. That single plea wrapped up in his name.

Tom nodded. There was only one thing left to do, and he _had_ to do it now.

Tom held the envelope up before him in both hands, almost at eye level, shifted his grip to clasp it level between his palms and fingers, and ripped a ragged line down the center, tearing it in half. The blood roared in his ears as he expressed a physical rejection of the notion that there was anything to keep them apart. He sucked in a great gulping breath, almost astonished at what he'd done.

Bill gave a little cry and his head lofted up, eyes wide and wild. "Tom--"

Before Bill could say anything more, Tom shifted his grip to shuffle the two pieces, fitting them together with trembling hands, and tore the envelope and its unwanted contents into quarters. Breath caught in his throat in angry gasps. Bill came around the coffee table in a few lunging steps as Tom ripped the quarters into smaller pieces, clumsy but determined, hoping if he was quick enough, there wouldn't be a single intelligible word left to tell him anything they didn't need to know. He swallowed hard and licked his lips and avoided Bill's eyes, ashamed that it had taken him this long to do what was right for them.

"Tom...Tom, Tom," Bill chanted, grabbing up pieces of paper as they spilled from Tom's clenching hands. "Are you sure?" Bill's words brought him out of a daze, widening his circle of awareness to more than his intent to destroy the envelope and its contents completely.

Finally raising his head to lock eyes with Bill, Tom tongued his lip and nodded. "It doesn't matter," he said hoarsely, and continued trying to rip the pieces in his hands even as they squeezed out between his fingers and escaped. He was still desperate, but riding a growing wave of exhilaration. "It doesn't matter; I don't care anymore. If knowing the truth would keep me from being with you, then I don't want it." Ripped bits of envelope trickled out from his cupped hands while he tried to take a deep breath. His heart was still thudding hard and fast, as though he'd run a last sprint. 

He was free.

Bill caught the fluttering bits of paper, closing his hands around Tom's in a quick, convulsive grip. "But you wanted to know; the uncertainty was killing you," he said, his voice shaky. The eyes that met Tom's were bright with unshed tears and his mouth wavered, as though uncertain over whether to shape a smile or a frown. There was a brief tremor in his fingers then his hands were sure as he gathered up the pieces of envelope that had escaped Tom's grasp. "You said...I mean, I thought you needed..."

Tom bent his head to look at their hands clasped around so much useless paper, bringing his face near Bill's. "I can live with the uncertainty. I can't live without you," he replied, quiet but intense, trying to transmit all of the things unsaid. He didn't simply love Bill; he needed him. "That's what it comes down to. And I'm sorry it took me this long to realize." He bit his lip and looked over at Bill, expecting him to be angry, maybe, for making him wait, for drawing it out. He deserved it.

Bill's face was intent. He gathered up all of the pieces that Tom had dropped, everything that had fallen around their feet, and carried them over to the fireplace. At the glance Bill slanted over his shoulder, Tom joined him, shuffling over to the hearth and dumping his handfuls of paper bits onto the little pile that Bill created when he tugged the metal grate aside. Wordless, Bill linked his arm through Tom's as Tom reached for one of the long-stemmed fireplace matches in the box beside the grate.

Their eyes met after Tom struck the match, and Bill gave him a nod.

"I love you," Bill told him, his brilliant smile spreading over his face like the sun unfurling over the cityscape, but so many megawatts brighter.

"No matter what," Tom said with a firm nod. His heart was settling back into its ordered place in his chest, with Bill beside him. He lowered the match to the heaped pile of paper fragments and watched them blaze up, orange flames curling over the white and eating them up into black husks all at once. He laid the long match carefully into the midst of the tiny but merrily-blazing fire and leaned against Bill's solid strength. "We don't need this to tell us what we are to each other." He could breathe again.

Bill nodded, turning his head to kiss Tom's ear. "I'm glad you got there, too," he whispered, sounding overwhelmed.

They knelt side by side and watched the blackening bits smolder, sending up streaming smoke signals that wafted up, wreathing around in front of their eyes in idle curls before disappearing up the chimney flue.

"So...what next?" Tom wondered aloud, winding his arm around Bill, enjoying the way Bill nestled into the curve of his arm; the perfect fit.

"Now?" Bill lifted one elegant hand, cupping his fingers as a tendril of smoke escaped the grate and made its way toward them. He opened his fingers like a spring, wafting it away from them, and rubbed his hand off on his jeans. "We set sail into the rest of our lives together." He arched his brow at Tom; it was an invitation, and a challenge. His lips curved at last into a slow, promising smile.

Tom took a breath, nodded, and leaned forward to seal the pact with a kiss. They were both grinning and Bill gave him a low, husky chuckle before their mouths met, curving against one another, and Bill's long, fine fingers stroked at Tom's nape. They fit, each completing the other, and that was everything that mattered.

* * *

Hours later Tom was blessing the existence of take-out because it allowed him to stay holed up with Bill for the afternoon and make plans, and still manage to get tasty food delivered to his mouth, or at least his doorstep. After packing up the rest of the Chinese food they'd lunched on into the fridge for later sustenance and letting Hoggle lick the taste of Mongolian Beef from his fingers – then washing his hands at the sink – Tom let Bill get back to his work in the computer room. They had been quiet but focused on each other during lunch, crowding into the same side of the booth in the kitchen nook, giving each other little touches, brushes of the hands and feet and nudging up side by side as they went through about half of the enormous meal Tom had ordered. "You can have sex with me all afternoon and half the evening if you let me get a few things done right now," Bill had promised after lunch.

That was entirely too much for Tom to pass up; it had short-circuited his decision making centers, in fact. By the time he'd opened his mouth to make a reply, Bill had already patted him on the cheek and sashayed out of the kitchen.

"Later," Tom consoled himself, adjusting his cock in his pants. That, at least, had always been honest and completely unambiguous about an unequivocal affiliation with Bill.

He returned to the living room with a cup of water to pour over the hot ash in the fireplace. There was no sense in being careless.

Every scrap of paper, envelope and test result, had gone up in smoke. He rummaged through the blackened heap curiously with the fire poker and it began to collapse into smaller fragments.

From the ashes, everything could be razed completely, or built back up again. Tom knew which way he wanted to go, now.

He poured the water in careful dribbles over the ash pile, which wasn't even smoking. It broke apart and bits floated around the grate. His cleaning lady wasn't going to be so happy about that. Fragments of words on charred specks of white paper caught his eye as the inky pools of waterlogged ash swirled around the grate and Tom poked at those, too, surprised that any bit of the test results had survived the impromptu bonfire they'd created. Negative? Positive? Identical? Unrelated? He imagined what the words might have been. In the end, he didn't want to know – not really, not if it meant driving Bill out of his life on the flimsy weight of 'it's for your own good.'

Tom sat back on his heels and let himself imagine it for a moment, if the results had come back confirming they were twins. He'd try to kick Bill out and Bill would resist, of course; he knew Tom better than to take his assholish behavior at face measure. Bill would argue with him, and rail at him, and manage to stay but there would be doubts in Tom's head, a cloud over his happiness. He'd wonder if he was doing the right thing for them. He'd grow distant, he'd drink, he'd stay out, he'd stop making love.

He'd drive Bill away, then try to keep him in his life as brothers.

Tom thought he was capable of that, of putting Bill at arm's length only to be his brother. Yet there would always be something more. Bill would give him that look, and Tom would know they both wanted it. Not simply sex, but the intimacy of lovers; knowing they could lay hands on one another and say 'this is mine.' They wouldn't say anything but they would both know they were incomplete and aching, halves of the whole they had been together.

At least, that was how Tom pictured it.

He sat up and jabbed at the last of the ashes with the poker, mixing everything up and coating the little bits of words in runny water and smears of ash. He didn't want to risk a single word floating up to haunt him with anything unnecessary. Soon enough the remnants would turn to pulp and fall apart, and any evidence for or against would be gone. That suited him.

Everything they would be, they would choose together.

After racking the poker, Tom got up and rubbed his hands against the front of his jeans in quick, convulsive motions. He was light again, the weight in his chest gone; he was free to live his life with Bill. If other people didn't see it – if people like Andreas, and Georg who'd known Tom for half his life, didn't speak up on a resemblance, maybe it was coincidence after all. They were different enough that it shouldn't give them trouble, at least.

Tom dropped into his seat at the couch and flipped on the television for background noise, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He still had a few calls to make. He was tired, almost giddy from the lack of quality sleep the night before, but he was free and happy and that was all one needed, apparently, to feel pretty damned good in spite of sleeplessness.

His eye fell on the thin cardboard mailer that had dropped to the floor. He wanted to leave it, but the mailer would stare him in the face no matter how he tried to ignore it until he got rid of it. It was out of place on the pristine slate-colored carpet. With a sigh, he heaved himself up from the couch to retrieve it. He fanned it back and forth through the air as he carried it back toward the kitchen to dispose of it. As he glanced at the mailing label, his thoughts began to churn. Someone – the people at the lab – knew the truth, whether yea or nay. Then again, Michael had set up the appointment for him and Sam Bennett had stated they wouldn't be entered in the system; there would be no records.

Assuming there was anything to bite him in the ass to begin with, Tom figured he was going to have to let that one go, and take it on faith.

Bill returned to the kitchen as Tom did. He was bopping around to a soundless beat, bare feet pattering over tile, his hips going one way and his shoulders going the other. He rummaged around the fridge as Tom watched from the other side of the kitchen island with amusement. He started violently as he turned around and saw Tom, and dropped a can of Coke that went rolling over the floor.

"You're not going to want to drink that," Tom said, grinning over at him.

Bill disengaged a white earbud. "You dick, warn a guy!"

Tom held both hands up. "You're the one who..." he began, and his phone began to blare. He shook his head, scrunching his lips up at Bill in a ridiculous expression that made Bill's eyes crinkle in a soundless laugh. Tom fished his phone out of his baggy pocket.

Noting the display, Tom made another face. It was Andreas. He squared his shoulders, giving himself an attitude adjustment in the process – now in addition to making it a great day for himself, he could make his manager's day, as well. He lifted the phone to his ear and thumbed the call button.

"Release the hounds," he intoned. "And give Michael a raise."

"That's not in the budget," Andreas objected automatically, without a single comment for Tom's lack of hello.

"Then bill me for it," Tom said, scathing. "He deserves it for putting up with all my shit and I want to give it to him, so make it happen."

Bill's dark eyes were full of mirth as he caught Tom's gaze from across the counter. He had another Coke in his hands and pulled the tab, watching Tom with a sweet, interested expression, one brow raised.

"Please," Tom added, and licked his lip.

Bill nodded at him, blew a kiss, and stuck his earbud back in, dancing his way out of the kitchen. Tom watched his ass until it was out of view and marveled that someone so flexible and graceful could dance as though they were being electrocuted.

"This is creepy," Andreas said, calling his attention back to the conversation.

"Hey, I thanked you, didn't I?" Tom protested, capable of speech once more now that Bill was out of sight.

"Yeah, that's the creepy bit," Andreas replied with a snort.

Tom grunted. "Well, what more do you want me to do, a song and dance?" He wasn't much better at dancing than Bill, though they had done all right in the ballroom the week before. That sent him on a brief but entertaining diversion as he re-lived the first night he'd had Bill in his bed.

"—om," Andreas was saying, and Tom dragged his attention to the subject at hand.

"I'm not a very good dancer," Tom told him, licking his lips.

Andreas laughed. "Okay, I'm going to have to get used to this new, more mellow you, but I can work with it. Fine, Michael gets his raise. I'll let him know it was for exemplary performance."

"And how," Tom cheered. He wondered if the bodyguard ever had gotten around to finishing his book. "What else have you got for me?"

"Band meeting tomorrow..."

"Yeah, Georg reminded me," Tom said, reaching up to rub at his nape and finding the tight braids instead of dreadlocks, again. He couldn't wait to see Andreas's jaw drop over that particular change. "He invited Bill, by the way, so don't flip out when I bring him."

"That's fine," Andreas said so quickly it made Tom suspicious. "There's a few things I'd like to go over with him, stuff you were probably too, uh, occupied with Bill to bring up."

Sex-drenched, Tom wanted to supply. "We're in the honeymoon phase," he said instead.

Andreas laughed. "Yeah, I can tell. What else can I get out of you while you're in such a good mood?"

"Unless you can put Bill on all my concert and appearance riders from now on, I guess you'll have to play it like a guessing game. Think of it as twenty questions with Tom," Tom invited. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to revisit the issue of similarity with Andreas again, and decided against it. He'd let Andreas bring it up himself, and manage to whatever situation occurred, if any. "What else do you need?"

Shifting the phone from one ear to the other, Tom began to drift through the penthouse in search of Hoggle – or Bill, though he'd promised not to bother his lover.

"How soon can I arrange a photo op?" Andreas asked.

Tom licked his lip. "I'm going to take him out to dinner tonight," he replied. Now that they had their results – or rather, they'd burned the results together, a bridge that never needed crossing – Tom was going to take his lover out on the town.

"I hope you're not taking him to that shithole with the crappy pizza and flat beer," Andreas said.

"Why is everyone so down on that place?" Tom said, crestfallen. "I want Bill to form his own opinion of my favorite restaurant, thank you very much." He'd already been thinking of someplace more upscale and exclusive, but he knew eventually they would jaunt down the street to share a pizza.

"It gave me heartburn for the whole next day," Andreas shot back. "There's something not right about that. Okay, email or text me your plans and set it up, how's that?"

"Why don't you have someone arrange for reservations?" Tom countered. "Then you'll know where and when." He hovered in the doorway to the computer room and smiled at the lurch his heart gave him when Bill's head lifted and a look somewhere between pleased and sexy slid over his face at Tom's appearance. He mouthed at his lover, "What do you want for dinner?"

"Sushi," Bill announced, clapping his hands together.

"You hear that?" Tom prompted his manager.

"Loud and clear. I'll set it up."

Tom dropped his phone back into his pocket once he'd ended the call, and leaned against the door frame. "Sorry, I'm interrupting," Tom said sheepishly, lowering his head when he realized he'd been staring at Bill and sort of zoning out. Backlit by the sunshine filtering in through the filmy curtains, he was a study in beauty, as always. Gorgeous enough to be a woman, if not for his strong cheekbones and jaw, and the size of him, of course.

"It's okay, I'm finished for now," Bill replied. He shut his laptop and got up, stretching both arms above his head and riding up the turtleneck to expose a slice of belly and one of the dark points of his new tattoo.

"Mmf." Tom wrapped his arms around himself in a fruitless attempt to control the longing to touch, to stroke his hands over everything he saw, and uncover everything he couldn't.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, approaching.

Tom ducked his head. Time to voice his deepest fears, and get them out of the way so they could move on. "What if...what if I'm not the one?" he began, licking his lips with an anxious tongue. "What if all this happened for a reason? I mean...if I'm your twin, and I...and we're together like this, what if I'm preventing you..."

Bill began to shake his head as Tom spoke, and crossed the distance between them. "That's stupid," he interjected, bringing a halt to Tom's fumbling attempt to explain the lingering fear that haunted him. "We already decided it didn't matter if we are or aren't, didn't we? Joint decision, the two of us; because we want to be together." He gripped at one of Tom's hands where it rested, clenched into a fist, against his forearm.

"Yeah," Tom said, already relieved. He relaxed his arms and accepted Bill into them as Bill pressed forward, aligning their chests and stroking his back. "Yeah." One of his hands went up into Bill's soft hair, petting it.

"I think you're afraid to be happy," Bill said softly against his ear. "I want _you_ , Tom. Isn't it proof enough that I'm here? You're the one I want, and nobody else. But you're scared to accept it because you've been so unhappy for so long."

"You might have something there," Tom agreed, wry.

Bill cuddled up against his shoulder and kissed his neck. "So, it's not because you're having second thoughts about me in your space?"

"What?" Tom exclaimed at once, shocked. "No!" He'd been enjoying the slow process of discovering Bill's things unpacked beside his, filling up formerly sterile spaces.

Bill kissed his neck again. "Good," he said. He drew back far enough to give Tom a good view of flushed cheeks and shy, downcast eyes. "I've been making calls and sending a flurry of emails..."

"Why I wanted to give you your space," Tom interjected.

"...and I've got a few offers that basically told me, name your price," Bill continued as though Tom hadn't spoken. "Here in New York."

"Wait," Tom said, frowning. "What are you saying?" Bill was giving him an eager yet surprisingly fragile expression as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

"I...I could move here," Bill said, turning his face to one side, then the other. He examined Tom curiously from the corner of his eye. "For real, I could be here in New York, and telecommute most of the time. I got a columnist offer that interested me..."

Warmth slammed into the pit of Tom's stomach and spread outward. "You'd live here, and travel with me?" he croaked. "Change jobs – I mean, the job you love?"

Bill waved a flawlessly manicured hand. "I can always get another job," he said, then clasped his hands and grinned over at Tom. "What good is a job in Chicago if it's keeping me from the _person_ I love?"

"And you'd move here?" Tom pressed.

Bill nodded, biting his lip. "I...I can get my own place," he began, and gave a little laugh. "Probably should, at least for investment purposes, and...and to give you a bit of breathing room as we settle into our relationship..." 

"Move in with me," Tom blurted out his answer to the uncertainty on Bill's face. "I want you to be with me, not some place across the city or even down the street. I want to think of you here, walking Hoggle when I'm not here, making coffee and curled up on the sofa and sleeping late in the bed we never make."

Bill laughed, his whole face lit up. "It's true, we don't," he said musingly, and leaned in, kissing Tom's mouth. "Even when there's no housekeeping service. I'm still going to buy property, though." He said it like he would be going shoe-shopping.

"Buy as many as you like," Tom said. "As long as you come home to me, here."

"Sounds like a proposal," Bill told him, eyes watchful.

"And if I like that?" Tom countered. He licked his lips again.

Bill grinned outright. "I like you," he said. "And I'd say yes. Gonna make an honest man out of me, Tomi?"

Tom raised a brow. "Well, that, now...I think that might take more time and effort than I've got."

Bill squawked at him, but that didn't stop him from cooperating completely when Tom hoisted him into his arms to carry him from the room. He yoked his arms around Tom's neck and pursed his lips while Hoggle pranced around them making low happy whuffles. "Where are you taking me, you barbarian?" he wanted to know.

"Couch," Tom replied, "for the most enthusiastic blowjob of your life." So they weren't getting married, but it would do, so far as celebrations were concerned.

He carried Bill to the bedroom, instead, as Hoggle continued to follow his steps with far too much interest. They'd have to get another dog, Tom thought; to keep him company. Maybe two. As Tom set Bill down and nudged Hoggle aside enough to shut the door, gently, in the poor dog's face, Bill's arms went around him.

"What if it did happen for a reason?" Bill's softly-accented voice said in his ear. "What if this happened so that you could have one thing in your life you never _can_ lose?"

"I'd think it was too good to be true," Tom whispered back, holding onto Bill and setting his face against Bill's neck.

"We're not at sea anymore," Bill told him, taking firm hold of Tom's face and surprising him with the strength of his grip. He lifted Tom up to look at him, bringing them eye to eye. "Okay? We're here, and I'm not giving up on you. So suck it up, mister."

"You're going to get us married, yet," Tom joked feebly.

Bill grinned at him, cradling Tom's face in his hands before stretching forth for a kiss. "Haven't you understood a word I'm saying? Your fate is sealed up so much tighter than marriage."

"I can live with that," Tom replied, and found, amazingly, that it was true. Bill was right – and Tom had the sense he'd have to get used to saying that, or at least admitting it in his thoughts. They were off the ship, but now they were chartering the rest of their lives together.

"Now," Bill began hopefully, "about that blowjob...Most enthusiastic of my life, you said?"

Tom laughed and led him to the bed for the first of many attempts to outdo the one that came before.


End file.
